


Symphony

by MinMinn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music School, Anxiety, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Character's name spelled as Yuuri, Eventual Smut, Flashback, Fluff, Happy Ending, Multi, Panic Attack, Phichit POV, Slow Burn, Soft Flirting, Unreliable Narrator, Viktor POV, Viktor is a singer, Yuri on CONCERT with a twist, Yuuri POV, Yuuri is a pianist, drunken teasing, long fic, music up the wazoo, slight jealousy?, sneaky friends get shit done, when will the boys remain calm?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-05-15 18:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19301698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMinn/pseuds/MinMinn
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov, tenor prodigy and top student at the Salchow Institute of Music, is looking for an accompanist.And word around campus is that Yakov Feltsman, Head of Music and conductor of the prestigious Institute Band, is looking for new members.Yuuri Katsuki is just looking to survive his next Piano recitalORThe Yuri on CONCERT Music School AU that we all deserve





	1. Meetings

Today was Yuuri Katsuki's first meeting with his supervisor, and he was late.

He had his satchel in his hands as he hurried off the bus towards the Salchow Institute of Music, stuffed with a haphazard pile of notes and sheet music. It was the kind of old satchel where the edges were so worn you could see inside it, and the buckle didn’t quite work properly most of the time. Yuuri had just grown used to carrying it in both arms instead of slung over his shoulder, only having to stuff the notes back in occasionally when they were jostled loose. This was proving to be quite the challenge today, as Yuuri broke into a full-blown sprint across the quad towards the studios, a few students glancing after him in confusion.

Phichit had stolen his charger in the night. That’s where all the trouble had started.

It was technically Yuuri’s first day of the semester, though other undergrad students had already started in February. Since he was only working on his thesis and composition, he didn’t have any strict classes or lectures. This meant his first day fell whenever his new supervisor decided it was time for them to meet, and Yuuri had been preparing for it over the entirety of the holidays. Right up until two in the morning the night before, when Yuuri had set his alarm for six, plugged his phone in next to his bed, and settled in for the few hours of sleep he’d allowed himself.

Right up until Phichit had stolen his charger.

And his phone hardly had any battery to begin with.

And his alarm didn’t go off.

“I’ll kill him!” Yuuri gasped as he dashed into the building, making his way towards a set of stairs and bounding up them two at a time. Phichit had been out at a bar all night, and must have come home early that morning, drunkenly stealing Yuuri’s charger because, of course, Phichit didn’t have one of his own. Yuuri loved his roommate dearly, but right at that moment all he could think of was strangling his stupid neck. Or “misplacing” all of his reeds right before his next recital. That would work…

Yuuri shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to scheme about ruining his best friend’s life. He would have plenty of time for that _after_ the meeting.

Yuuri’s first meeting with his new supervisor was – in Yuuri’s mind – one of the most important days on his calendar. This was primarily due to the fact that his supervisor was none other than Lila Baranovskaya – ex-mezzo-soprano diva and Queen of the industry. She essentially owned New York, as far as the music world was concerned, and her word was law. Despite only being Head of Voice at the Institute, answerable to Yakov Feltsman, Dean of the school and formidable in his own right, everyone knew it was her that really held all the power at the Institute.

And Yuuri was late to their first meeting.

Yuuri wondered, not for the first time, why she had agreed to be his supervisor. Her usual focus was on singing, and she’d trained many of the famous classical, jazz, and music theatre singers that now graced auditoriums, studios, and bars across the city. Across the world, even. One of her students had just gone on to win a Tony Award at last year’s ceremony.

Not to mention the fact that Yuuri’s usual supervisor, Celestino Cialdini, one of NYC’s top pianists, was the perfect supervisor. He was kind, allowed Yuuri to work at his own pace, but still challenged him enough that he always felt he was learning. So, it had come as a genuine shock when Celestino had met with him after last year’s finals, and suggested he try a new supervisor.

Yuuri had, of course, assumed it was all his fault. Celestino was an amazing pianist, and Yuuri was clearly not up to standard. Celestino probably had countless postgrad students waiting in the wings with oodles of talent and self-confidence. It was only right that he make time for them instead, and drop the excess baggage.

But then Celestino mentioned that he’d had a meeting with Lilia.

Yuuri finally reached the top of the third floor, glancing quickly down the hall to check the studio numbers and orient himself, running on the spot to keep up his momentum and try and calm the whirlwind in his brain.

Lilia had emailed him over the Christmas break, asking a few questions about his thesis, some basic queries about his skill level and repertoire. Yuuri had felt like he was in a dream – it was almost too surreal. Speaking to her directly was surely forbidden in some way. And her clinical approach had made him feel like he was some kind of specimen, pinned to a wall with Lilia as scientist, poking and prodding and dissecting his talent.

Although she was Head of Voice, her experience and vast knowledge of musical theory made her top advisor to most students at SIM. She would be more than able to supervise his piano thesis, and was a far superior choice than even Celestino when it came to composition.

And despite being absolutely sure Lilia would _never_ agree to tutor him, Yuuri eventually found himself face to face with a disarming email, just a few weeks before the beginning of the semester. It was short, but brutally direct;

“I will be your supervisor, if you’re ready to sell your soul.”

Yuuri blanched at the memory as he came closer and closer to the studio where they would be meeting.

_Sell his soul?_

Yuuri reached for the handle of the door to the studio, clasping it in a white-knuckle grip. Absently, he thought that really wasn’t too high a price at all.

With the words still spinning in his mind, Yuuri hardly noticed the handle turn itself under his fingers, and suddenly the door was wrenched out of his hands and blown wide open.

He fell forward slightly at the force, scrambling to keep his satchel and notes secure in his grip. When he straightened, his glasses were skewed, and he took a moment to readjust them so he could see clearly…

A tall man stood in the doorway, framed by the light streaming in from the windows of the studio behind him. He had a slightly surprised look on his features, silver hair drifting across his eyes as it shook loose.

Yuuri blinked.

 _Viktor Nikiforov_?

It took a while for Yuuri’s frazzled mind to catch up on what was happening. He was face to face with _the_ Viktor Nikiforov – tenor prodigy and top student at the Institute. Famous son of the Russian Nikiforov power couple. Infamous flirt and heartthrob of the entire school, if not the entire city.

And he was _still_ face to face with _the_ Viktor Nikiforov.

And Viktor was speaking.

His lips were moving.

Was Viktor speaking to _him_?

“—must be Lilia’s new pet? Don’t let her eat you alive,” and he was smiling. Viktor’s smile was almost too big – it seemed to spread across his whole face, lighting up his eyes and creasing his cheeks into dimples.

Yuuri swallowed.

“Ah… um…. Excuse me?” his voice was breathless, and he could feel it quavering in his throat. His heart was still trying desperately to steady itself after he had sprinted all the way here, but something else seemed to set his nerves on fire and flood his chest with warmth. It felt like his heart was trying to tear itself out of his ribcage.

“Oh, of course,” Viktor stood aside so that Yuuri could pass through, oblivious to the fact that Yuuri had actually been asking Viktor a question. Yuuri didn’t correct him. He was too caught up on the sound of Viktor’s voice.

It was pure music, of course. Every word, every inflection, carefully placed like fingers on piano keys. Yuuri distantly thought he could listen to it for hours.

“Good luck! And I’ll consider your advice, Lilia!” Viktor called back as he moved to leave the studio, flashing Yuuri another grin that made that warmth in Yuuri’s chest spark into some kind of inferno. It was hot in here. Too hot. Was it really winter? Yuuri felt like he had far too many layers on, and why were his cheeks so warm…

And then Viktor was gone, the door closing gently behind him.

“I hope this is both the first _and last_ time you keep me waiting, Mr. Katsuki,” another voice called from across the room. Yuuri yelped and spun around, reaching a hand up to his mouth to quiet his embarrassing noises.

It would be a miracle if he could survive the next hour without going into cardiac arrest.

Lilia Baranovskaya was seated at a grand piano in the corner of the room, dressed casually but somehow still looking ready to step out onto a stage at any moment. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun, accentuating her sharp features and highlighting her steely gaze that pinned Yuuri to the floor where he stood. Her lips were pursed, and she slowly moved to stand, eyes roving up and down Yuuri’s figure, as if calculating Yuuri’s worth right then and there. He was acutely aware that he was standing there in his tacky sweatshirt and training pants. Not to mention his musty old bag and crumpled notes tucked into his arms, hair an absolute bird’s nest and glasses still slightly skewed. And he was panting for air like a fish out of water.

“Well?” Lilia snapped, folding her arms and cocking her hips as she waited for Yuuri’s response.

“Y—Yes! I mean, no, it won’t happen again Mrs. Baranov—”

“That’s _Madame_ Baranovskaya,” she clipped, face hardly betraying any emotion.

“Madame Baranovskaya,” Yuuri whispered, instinctively dropping into a stiff bow, momentarily forgetting that he was in New York City instead of Japan. He thought he heard Lilia huff through her nose – was she laughing? Yuuri must be hearing things.

He snapped out of the bow, eyes still downcast; “F—Forgive me, my alarm …” he trailed off lamely, hoping Lilia understood.

“We’ll start at the beginning,” she said simply, working her way around the piano and standing in front of him. Yuuri kept his eyes trained on the floor, watching as her perfectly heeled feet came into view. The shoes looked expensive, and Yuuri distantly wondered at how pretty they looked…

“Discipline,” she said sharply, and Yuuri glanced up at her, eyes wide.

“Discipline…?” he whispered.

“I will not tolerate laziness. So, we will begin with discipline. Show me your scales,” and she stepped to the side, Yuuri swallowing thickly as he glanced toward the piano.

It seemed to warp slightly as his eyes tried to focus, the shimmering black of its top swirling until it felt like the blackness was going to swallow him. He’d let his supervisor down. He was lazy. He was weak.

He had to prove himself.

 

*                       *                       *

 

“So, how’d the meeting go?” Phichit’s drawling voice crackled through Yuuri’s headphones as he moved to join the line at the Campus Café. Yuuri sighed, still absently drumming his fingers against his satchel, his sheet music spinning through his mind.

“Terribly,” he groaned in response, clutching his satchel closer. Phichit made a commiserative noise on the other end.

“I’m sure it wasn’t _terrible_ , Yuuri,” Phichit said, his voice slightly groggy. Yuuri frowned, remembering Phichit was probably wickedly hungover by now.

“And you could have chosen a better time to come home piss drunk and steal my charger,” Yuuri said exasperatedly. He was somewhat lucky someone had left their charger in the studio, so his phone was back to full … _after_ the fact.

“Ah, yeah, my bad,” Phichit said with a nervous laugh. “I’ll make it up to you by making dinner tonight.”

“Mi Goreng isn’t dinner, by the way,” Yuuri tried to sound serious, but he had a smile on his face. It must have shown through in his voice because Phichit was laughing on the other end.

“It ticks all the boxes though! Hits all the food groups … if you squint,” he laughed again. Yuuri grinned.

He and Phichit were roommates – had been since they’d both placed at SIM as undergrads. There were plenty of other international students – even a few other Japanese students that Yuuri knew by name – but something about Phichit just felt like home. They’d both moved to New York around the same time, had left their families behind to pursue music careers – Yuuri majoring in piano, Phichit in saxophone. And Phichit seemed to grasp all the strange cultural nuances far quicker than Yuuri, allowing them to fall into an easy friendship where Phichit would help Yuuri keep up socially, and Yuuri would ground Phichit when he got too crazy.

By the time they’d finished their degrees, they were best friends, and Yuuri could hardly imagine life in New York without him.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I met Viktor today,” Yuuri said absently, moving up in line and eying the cabinet for lunch options. Everything was ridiculously overpriced, and Yuuri winced when he saw the tag on a sandwich.

He smirked when Phichit gasped on the other end of the line. “Viktor? _The_ Viktor Nikiforov?! Yuuri why didn’t you tell me _as soon_ as I called?!” Yuuri laughed, Phichit practically screeching down the phone.

“It wasn’t a big deal, really. He was in before me with Lilia and we met in the hallway…” Yuuri trailed off, preparing himself as he noticed he was next in line. Yuuri noted distantly that the cashier seemed vaguely familiar – a younger man, quite thin with blonde hair, almost feminine except for his expression which made him look like some kind of street thug.

“Pfft, not a big deal. Yuuri, please, he’s only a fucking _god_ ,” and Yuuri could practically hear Phichit rolling his eyes.

“H—Hold on a second, I’m grabbing some lunch,” Yuuri said softly as he stepped up to the counter, taking an earbud out and smiling shyly at the cashier.

“What do you want?” the younger man snapped, staring at Yuuri with eyes like flint from under his bangs. Yuuri swallowed.

“Ch—Chicken sandwich and a long black, please,” he said, voice barely a whisper as his anxiety started creeping across his brain. This kid was looking at him like he was absolute trash.

“Huh? Speak up,” he snapped, leaning forward across the counter and lips working into a deeper frown than he was already wearing. Yuuri panicked. His throat tightened to the point where even breathing was hard let alone speaking. No. Not an option. He could feel everyone around him turning to stare.

“N—Never mind!” he gasped, and turned on his heels, forcing himself not to run, keeping his walk as casual as possible, though every muscle in his body was screaming at him to sprint.

It was only once he found a quiet set of chairs out of the way that he let himself take a deep breath, sitting down exhaustedly and staring at the ceiling.

“— _hello? Earth to Yuuuuuuuuuri?!”_ a voice crackled from the headphones around his neck and he jumped to put them back in.

“Ph-Phichit! Sorry … sorry, I forgot…” he wiped a hand across his face.

“Was it really that terrible? With _The Diva_?” Phichit asked gently, and Yuuri realised absently that Phichit probably heard the whole exchange at the café.

Yuuri laughed without mirth. “She told me to call her _Madame Baranovskaya_ actually.”

“What?! Man, she really lives up to her street name doesn’t she,” Phichit sighed.

“Yeh. Diva indeed,” Yuuri groaned, leaning forward in his chair. He glanced at his phone, noticing the time.

“Sorry Phichit, I have to go. Minako’s waiting for me,” he said in a small voice, and he heard Phichit _tsk_ on the other end of the line.

“You’d better fill me in when you get home tonight,” his friend warned, entirely serious. “And you’d _better_ tell me about Viktor or I’m burning the Mi Goreng.”

Yuuri laughed. “How do you even burn _Mi Goreng_. It’s instant noodles.”

“I’ll find a way,” Phichit said, still deadly serious, though Yuuri could hear a smile in his voice.

“I’ll tell you, don’t worry. Bye Phichit,” and Yuuri ended the call, sitting staring at his phone for a while as he smiled softly.

He wondered exactly what he’d done to deserve a friend like Phichit.

 

*                       *                       *

 

The Salchow Institute of Music was the most prestigious music school in the country, and internationally it had consistently ranked in the top five for music schools. Yuuri had been just one of countless international applicants desperate to get into the school when he’d applied. Most famous musicians hailed from SIM, and many returned as lecturers or accompanists, only adding to its fame.

The Institute sat right in the middle of Manhattan, surrounded by countless studios, theatres, dance halls, and schools. So, it was no surprise that Yuuri’s family friend and esteemed ballet dancer, Minako Okukawa, had her studio nearby.

Minako had known the Katsuki family for years, originally from the same sleepy town of Hasetsu that Katsuki was born in. So, it was Minako who’d stoked Yuuri’s fires as a young pianist, encouraging him to pursue a career in music from as young as three. His parents hadn’t really understood – confused enough by his decision to even train in ballet under Minako in the first place, let alone his subsequent growing passion for piano. But Minako understood. He’d begun as her accompanist for a while, and travelled with her to New York when she accepted a job as Head of Dance at SIM. And it was her that had snuck the SIM application papers onto his desk one night, and her that handed them in the next morning.

Even this deep in his postgrad studies, Yuuri still found time to work with Minako. He was established and skilled enough now to be her primary accompanist at the studio, and he often helped the dancers there rehearse, and even sometimes performed at their recitals or concerts. He had a regular slot on Thursday evenings with Minako’s Troupe – a group of her best dancers, all top SIM graduates, who often performed at the Lincoln Center and other theatres around the city.

And Yuuri often danced at Minako’s studio himself, still intent on keeping on top of his fitness but even more so, just drawn to ballet as an outlet. He’d always loved the form, and enjoyed being able to make a different kind of music with his whole body rather than just his hands.

He hoped Minako would let him practice tonight, after classes finished. She’d mentioned she had a surprise for him, but he assumed it was another free dinner at their favourite local Yakitori Bar. Maybe he could rain-check it …

Shrugging his scarf closer to his face as he felt he temperature drop, Yuuri made his way through the streets towards the studio, satchel still in his hands. He’d remembered to pack the sheet music for the Troupe’s latest performance – a more modern rendition of _The Nutcracker_. It was a selection he enjoyed playing, though it sounded much better with a full orchestra.

The studio was warm, and Yuuri always felt a small sense of coming home when he stepped inside. The walls were a soft wood, with some small framed Japanese etchings tastefully placed along them. There was a Bonsai Sakura tree on the front desk, Minako’s assistant seated behind it. She glanced up, recognising Yuuri and offering him a professional smile. He smiled back, nodding and making his way through to the stairs.

“Yuuri, glad you could make it,” Minako said brightly as he entered the main studio. A few of the dancers were already warming up and he offered them a small smile.

“Hey Minako,” his voice was soft, but being around Minako was as easy as breathing, so he found he could speak a little more confidently. Even if the memories of the other studio he’d been in earlier today still cast an anxious shadow across his mind.

He shed his jacket and scarf as Minako waved him over to the piano, turning back to one of her students and going over some choreography. Yuuri placed his jacket and scarf under the piano seat, relishing the feeling of not being the centre of attention as he sat at the familiar stool.

It was one of the reasons he loved piano. The real star of the show was the instrument – it took up the most room, could be as loud and commanding as any singer, if not more so. But the whole time, the player – Yuuri – could be invisible. Silent. And piano was always the most popular as an accompaniment, allowing Yuuri to truly blend into the background and let himself just melt into the music. Nobody judged the accompanist. Nobody even _saw_ them.

So, after the events of the day where he’d been centre stage under _Madame_ Baranovskaya’s judgement, settling into the role of accompanist was exactly what Yuuri needed to unwind.

The rehearsal went well, Minako leaning casually but gracefully against the grand, offering corrections and advice to her students where appropriate. She sometimes flicked Yuuri a sly smirk or a wink when she said something particularly layered, clueing him in to some inside joke they shared. Yuuri’s nerves soon melted into calm, and he contented himself with getting lost in the music and the movement of the dancers.

Yuuri actually knew some of the dancers personally, having either trained with them on occasion or shared lecture halls when they were studying at SIM. He could tell they were just as relaxed as he was – still working hard and concentrating with sweat dripping down their brows or a look of determination in their eyes, but relaxed all the same. The studio was a comfortable space – Minako having worked hard to keep “real life,” as she called it, firmly outside of the studio. When you walked through the doors, you could step into new shoes, forget whatever you were outside, and focus on dancing. Still, she often played counsellor to her students – God knows she’d done it enough with Yuuri to basically earn herself a psychiatrist’s license – outside of the studio. She’d once told Yuuri, over a bottle of sake at their favourite bar, that artists were the most vulnerable of the human race. They didn’t just wear their hearts on their sleeves, they displayed it on a stage for the world to see.

Somehow, as Yuuri played and let his mind wander, he found himself wondering if that rule applied to Viktor.

Viktor’s status on campus was well known to Yuuri. Phichit as well, who often gushed about the famous tenor in the safety of their apartment like he was some kind of celebrity. And Yuuri thought, absently, that he probably _was_ a kind of celebrity, at least in the music world.

Viktor’s parents were wildly famous musicians – his mother the lead soprano at NYC Opera for almost three decades before her recent retirement, and his father a famous composer and infamous conductor come manager of the New York Philharmonic. Their reputations as ruthless artists and unparalleled masters of their crafts had propelled them into international stardom, and their other worldly good looks and “exotic” Russian lineage made them instant favourites in almost any circle.

Viktor was born to greatness, in every sense of the word. It was almost a joke that he even attended SIM in the first place.

He’d been a prodigy since he was young, taking to singing like a boat to water, and effortlessly moving onto dance and composition, having performed at numerous prestigious events, concerts, and competitions for years. He’d just been granted the lead role of Rodolfo in NYC Opera’s upcoming production of _La Bohéme_ – the youngest tenor on the company’s roster in decades. And not only was his voice stunning, but his looks almost guaranteed him roles in any field. He’d performed in musical theatre last year, showing himself to be an exquisite dancer, singer, and performer. From music companies to media outlets, Viktor had most of New York in the palm of his hand at just 27.

So Yuuri found it hard to imagine Viktor being “the most vulnerable of the human race.” If anything, Viktor was confidence incarnate.

As Yuuri let himself drift, he fell into playing on autopilot, mind sifting through memories and honing in on his run in with Viktor earlier at the school studio.

He was so confident – almost ethereal in how self-assured he was. And it wasn’t arrogant, Yuuri noted. He was just sure of where he stood – understood his own limits quite thoroughly. Yuuri wondered if Viktor was hard on himself during practice. He probably wasn’t as hard on himself as Yuuri, since Yuuri wasn’t naturally gifted or genetically destined to be a musician like Viktor was. Viktor probably just practiced as a formality.

Something about the music he was playing had Yuuri closing his eyes, replaying their meeting and slowing it down like some kind of internal film. He could almost see Viktor’s eyes, hidden in shadow with the light behind him, but still a brilliant blue against his pale skin… silvery eyelashes framing them perfectly … the set of his lips…

“Yuuri?”

His eyes flew open and he stopped playing, realising he’d all but daydreamed off the face of the planet. He glanced over to Minako who was looking at him with an amused expression.

“We’re doing a traditional _Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy_ , not Jazz-Interpretive,” she said with a smirk, arching her brow as Yuuri blushed.

What had he been playing?

“O—Oh, sorry,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Some of the dancers were whispering to themselves, the few he knew giggling good naturedly. Yuuri ducked his head, focussing on the keys and trying to ignore his embarrassment.

“Let’s pick it up from the t—” Minako suddenly stopped, interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

“I’m so sorry, is this a bad time?” a voice said, and Yuuri felt his heart leap into his throat.

Standing at the door, slightly breathless, hair dishevelled and peppered with snow – it was snowing? – was none other than Viktor Nikiforov.

Instinctively, Yuuri turned to glance out the window. It _was_ snowing. And it was dark. How long had he been daydreaming for? How long had Minako let him _play for_?

Had Viktor _heard_ …?

Yuuri’s cheeks set themselves alight and he ducked his head again, desperate now more than ever to be as invisible as possible.

And what was Viktor _doing here?_ He was a member of the SIM Official dance troupe, there was hardly any need for him to practice here.

“Ah, Viktor, come in,” Minako said in a friendly tone. Minako _knew_ him? Yuuri felt like his brain was quickly derailing.

“You’re early, of course, but you’re welcome to sit in. We’re close to finishing,” she gestured towards the few scattered chairs at the back of the studio.

The chairs near the piano.

And Viktor was making his way towards the _closest_ chair, right behind the piano stool.

Yuuri tried to remember how to breathe.

“Oh,” Yuuri heard behind him, the voice sounding like some kind of symphony even if it also sounded like it was coming to him from the bottom of a well.

“You’re Lilia’s new student, right? We met earlier?” Viktor was talking. Viktor was talking to him. Talking to him like he wasn’t just playing the starring role in Yuuri’s brain theatre moments ago…

Yuuri gathered all the strength he could muster and turned slightly to face him. Yes. Yes, Viktor was every bit as beautiful in person as he had been in his mind. Even more so. It was almost painful to look at.

Viktor was in the process of undressing, setting his coat and sweatshirt across the back of the chair, scarf unravelling from around his neck. Yuuri found himself unable to look away from Viktor’s movements – it was almost a dance, the way his fingers and hands touched and pulled and stretched and…

Yuuri vaguely registered that Viktor was waiting for an answer.

“Y—Yes,” he squeaked, tipping his head in an instinctive bow which earned him a strange look. He blushed – if it were possible to blush any more than he already was – mentally chiding himself for slipping out of American culture. Nobody in America _bowed_. There was a slight pause, Viktor watching him levelly as he sat down behind him. Yuuri swallowed.

“I’m Y—Yuuri Katsuki,” he added breathlessly, thinking it was probably normal for humans to introduce themselves in this kind of situation. Viktor beamed a smile in response.

“A pleasure. I’m Viktor Nikiforov. We’re both at SIM I think?” Viktor cocked his head, hair falling over one of his eyes in a way that was very, _very_ distracting. Yuuri tried to remember the English language.

“Yes, I believe so,” he said softly, glancing away. He couldn’t very well let Viktor know that Yuuri had known they were at the same school since he’d first been accepted. That he and Phichit had followed Viktor’s studies and career meticulously, like he was some kind of musical god.

“I’m glad you’re accompanying. I’ve been looking for someone good to practice with for _ages_. You’d think it would be easy to find a decent pianist _here_ of all places, but they don’t grow on trees apparently. Or at least, that’s what Lilia would say,” Viktor offered him another smile, humming a little laugh like he’d just included Yuuri in some kind of inside joke. Was it a joke? Yuuri couldn’t tell. He could hardly keep up with the English, let alone understand the social nuances. Where was Phichit when he needed him?

Yuuri distantly wondered that this would make for a _great_ story for Phichit – a _terrible_ story for him.

“Alright, _Sugar Plum_ again please Mr. Katsuki,” Minako’s voice cut across his thoughts. She was on the other side of the studio now, holding one of the dancer’s legs to help them stretch. Yuuri swallowed. Yes. _Sugar Plum_. Easy.

It was a miracle he made it through the first few bars, let alone the whole piece. He was lucky he knew the song so well, hardly needing to look at the music to know where he was up to. And as accompanist, the song itself wasn’t too hard, just melodic enough to replicate the full orchestra piece and cue the dancers where necessary. It was a relief, because Yuuri found the entirety of his senses tuned to the man seated behind him. Every squeak of the chair he sat in, every appreciative hum, every _breath_ was like an electric bolt through his veins. By the end he was almost sweating where he sat, nerves completely shot.

“прекрасный!” Viktor said from behind him, chair dragging across the floor as he stood, clapping excitedly. Yuuri glanced back towards him, adjusting his glasses as he watched the man burst into a wide grin, bouncing from foot to foot like a child. The dancers all blushed and thanked him, though Yuuri couldn’t help but notice that Viktor’s eyes were mainly trained on _him_.

On _him?_

“Thank you, Viktor, I’m sure everyone’s even more in love with you now,” Minako said with a smirk at a few of the blushing dancers. They hid their faces and made their way to the far wall where all their gear was piled up. Viktor laughed.

“Please Minako, they probably don’t even know who I am,” he said with a grin. Minako huffed a laugh.

“Maybe. Though I’m sure they’re smart enough to figure out you’re important,” she glanced at Yuuri, flashing him a strange expression he could hardly read.

“You’d have to be,” she continued, leaning against the grand, “To persuade me to allow you the use of my studio - and my best accompanist - after hours.”

Yuuri suddenly felt the ground disappear beneath him as Minako glanced back at him with the most wicked smirk.

“Wh—What…” his voice choked off. Viktor was laughing. Minako was laughing. What was the joke? What had happened?

“Thank you again, Minako,” Viktor said with genuine gratitude dripping from every word. “I promise you won’t regret the favour,” he added with a wink. Minako laughed again.

“Have fun you two! And surprise, Yuuri!” she flashed Yuuri a grin, turning to leave with the rest of the troupe and completely ignoring Yuuri as he stood and stammered, trying to get the words out but finding he’d completely lost his voice.

Yuuri dejectedly watched her leave, and he felt his stomach sink as he realised he was alone. Alone with _Viktor Nikiforov_.

Phichit would never believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I _was_ working on a different multi-chapter YOI fic, but of course, I got struck with inspiration halfway through and scrapped it entirely. So, if you're here from that fic, I'm sorry! I'm trash! Maybe I'll finish it one day but after spending a whole week planning and researching for this fic it'll be a long time before I do *bows* please forgive me.
> 
> AND I'M REALLY EXCITED FOR THIS. I was basically raised in a music school as my mum is a classical singer, so I honestly can't believe its taken me THIS BLOODY LONG to write this kind of AU. I have like 50 pages of notes, ideas, plot plans, and MUSIC. So much music. I'm really excited to get stuck into this fic, so please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. Comments really help, and it makes me feel like I can collaborate creatively which is my Vibe™ ~
> 
> Also, I'm not from the states, so writing about NYC is based purely on movies and TV and Wikipedia searches. If anyone has any corrections about the setting please let me know! And likewise, if my own music world jargon isn't explained properly, let me know so I can edit/ offer better explanations. 
> 
> Lots of awkward love, 
> 
> \- Min
> 
> Some translations/ explanations:
> 
> “La Bohéme” – literally “Bohemian” or “The Bohemians.” It’s a really cute opera about artists and love and all that good stuff, and has a really famous tenor aria that Viktor would sing as Rodolfo. 
> 
> “Прекрасный” – “ _prekrasnyy,_ ” - beautiful/ lovely
> 
>  
> 
> “SIM” – just stands for Salchow Institute of Music. The school is sometimes referred to as just “The Institute” as well. I’ve loosely based the school off “The Julliard School” which is one of the most prestigious Music schools in the world, situated in NYC as well.


	2. Cold Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1:30am and I have absolutely zero regrets.
> 
> FIRST CAN I JUST SAY, please go and watch [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wD5kBb3-bQ) beautiful little scene from _La Bohéme_ if you can. It'll make the context of this chapter that much clearer. Trust me. It's so worth it.

It took a while for Yuuri to register that the rushing sound in his ears was his own heartbeat.

“She didn’t tell you? That’s odd,” Yuuri heard Viktor’s voice coming at him from across the room, but it was like sound through water. He could hardly hear him, let alone mentally register what on earth was going on.

Eventually, he managed to calm himself enough to form syllables.

“Ah, yeah. Seems so,” Yuuri’s voice cracked at the end and he quickly ducked his head to avoid seeing the other man’s reaction.

“My apologies,” Viktor said softly. The tone seemed … strange, somehow. Yuuri furrowed his brow.

Why was _Viktor_ sorry?

“No, it’s fine. She likes to tease me,” Yuuri said, voice small. He ran his fingers through his hair absently, feeling his brain kick into autopilot as the imminent anxiety attack threatened to take over all of his faculties.

And it should have been _Yuuri_ apologising. Right at that moment, he felt like he should be apologising to the whole world for just existing.

It didn’t make any sense. The whole scenario, from start to finish, felt like a monumental nightmare. Viktor was here, Viktor had heard him play, Viktor wanted to practice with _him_ …

Something gnawed at the edges of Yuuri’s mind and he spoke before he could think.

“Why are you here, anyway?” and the words were gone from his mouth before he could stop them. Of course. Of course he’d put his foot in it. And Viktor’s slight flinch was all he needed to confirm he’d really, _really_ put his foot in it.

“I’m sorry! I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” Yuuri reached his hand out, almost like he was trying to grab the words and stuff them back in his stupid mouth.

Viktor blinked, a strange expression flashing across his features. But then he broke into a dazzling smile. Yuuri suddenly found it hard to stand.

“You mean, why am I at _this_ studio?” Viktor caught on quickly. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.

“Well, let’s just say I was tipped off to a great accompanist,” Viktor said, winking and giving Yuuri a lopsided smirk. “But really … hmmm. I just wanted something different, I guess.”

Yuuri blinked, trying to force his brain to keep pace.

A great accompanist?

Yuuri was distantly aware of the fact that Viktor was still speaking, and he found himself moving to sit on the piano stool slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from Viktor’s lips as they moved.

“The SIM studios are great, don’t get me wrong. But they’re a bit too clinical for me. Am I making sense? Sorry, I’m probably not making any sense,” and as Viktor’s voice tapered off, Yuuri gaped as he watched the strangest gesture he’d ever seen play out before his very eyes.

Viktor was … shuffling his feet?

Was he nervous?

“Anyway, I hope it’s not too much trouble,” Viktor said suddenly, taking a tentative step towards where Yuuri was now seated at the grand. Yuuri swallowed thickly.

“No, of course not,” he all but breathed, hoping Viktor couldn’t hear just how much he _didn’t_ mind.

Viktor smiled with relief, visibly calming as his shoulders relaxed. “That’s good,” his voice sounded breathy. Low. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

Yuuri was glad he’d sat down.

Around the monumental planetary shift that appeared to be taking place all around him, Yuuri managed to kick his brain into gear, adjusting his glasses, working on keeping his heart firmly in his chest.

“Wh—What can I help you with?” he asked softly as he adjusted his music, desperate to do _something_ with his hands to make sure he came across as somewhat in control of his own body.

“Well,” Viktor started, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away sheepishly. “I was _going_ to ask if I could dance, but…” he chewed absently on his lower lip, “I really just wanted to see if you’d help me with my aria.”

Yuuri blinked.

“Your … aria?”

“Yeah. Apparently, I’m performing for NYCO this season,” Viktor rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. “I’ve been practicing at home but, well, my piano skills are almost non-existent,” Viktor laughed then, high and melodic. Yuuri swallowed.

Viktor wanted Yuuri … to help him practice his aria?

“ _Che Gelida Manina?”_ Yuuri asked automatically, voice wooden. Viktor paused, glancing back at him with a slightly surprised expression. Oh, because, of course. Of course Yuuri shouldn’t know that Viktor was going to be playing Rodolfo. Shouldn’t know about _La Bohéme_ , or the tenor aria, or, or…

“Wow,” Viktor said in a hushed voice, taking another step across the floor.

“You know about _La Bohéme_?” Viktor asked, his face moulding into an expression that looked … like awe?

“Uh… yes?” Yuuri squeaked, trying to look anywhere but Viktor’s eyes.

“That’s amazing!” the other man cried, suddenly reaching past the piano and clasping Yuuri’s hands in his own. Yuuri spluttered, hoping the other man couldn’t feel just how ridiculously clammy his own hands were all of a sudden.

“Most people at SIM aren’t interested in Opera,” Viktor said with a strange glint in his eyes. “The only other Classical Majors I’ve met are just doing it for the rep,” Viktor was seemingly oblivious to Yuuri’s ridiculously red face and strange choking noises he seemed to be making at the back of his throat.

Because Viktor still hadn’t let go of his hands.

 “It’s such a beautiful aria!” he continued wistfully, voice lifting adorably high like a child’s. “There’s something so enchanting about serenading someone like that. Baring your soul and hoping you can get to know them…” Viktor sighed, finally releasing Yuuri’s hands and reaching to tuck his hair back behind his ear which had fallen across his eyes in his excitement. After a moment, he seemed to calm, suddenly realising where he was and glancing back at Yuuri with a side-eye that suggested he was a little embarrassed.

“S—Sorry, I probably sound like a total nerd,” he laughed nervously.

Yuuri instantly shook his head, stammering desperately; “N—No! I… I like it too. That. I like that … about it … too…” and oh God, the floor looked so inviting. He just wanted to curl up in the fetal position and sink under the floorboards. What was he _saying_?

But when Yuuri dared to look up, he saw that Viktor was smiling at him. And it was a _kind_ smile.

“I’m so happy you agree,” Viktor replied, moving quickly across the floor to where his coat was bundled on the chair. He was rummaging through the pockets, little noises escaping him as he searched. Yuuri bit his lower lip, trying not to think about how adorable it was.

“Here, I even have the sheet music,” Viktor eventually said proudly, producing a rather scrunched set of papers, messily folded over themselves. Yuuri blanched – he’d seen students mistreat sheet music before, and he was no exception - remembering his own slightly crumpled pieces that were still tucked into his beaten-up old satchel. But this was a different kind of hubris. It was like a half-forgotten receipt you’d find at the back of your wallet.

Suddenly Yuuri was laughing.

Perhaps it was the ridiculousness of the entire situation, or perhaps - and far more likely - it was his absolutely frayed nerves after such a roller coaster of a day. But he just couldn’t seem to stop himself from laughing, starting with a snort and a giggle, hands clasped over his mouth to try and stem the tide. But sure enough, it turned into a full-blown laugh within seconds.

And Viktor’s shocked expression seemed to add fuel to the fire.

Yuuri wiped the corners of his eyes, taking off his glasses for a moment to try and stop the tears. It was just too much.

He managed to calm down enough to look back up at Viktor, glasses still in his hands.

“прекрасный,” Viktor said softly.

Yuuri furrowed his brow, replacing his glasses and coughing to try and settle his nerves. That was probably rude. Probably weird. He shouldn’t have laughed like that.

“I’m … sorry, I don’t speak Russian,” he said apologetically, still grinning at the thought of _Viktor Nikiforov_ stuffing sheet music in his pockets like a high school kid.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor said with a strange little cough, shuffling his feet and offering Yuuri another brilliant grin. “I slip into it sometimes. Not wise, seeing as I should be learning Italian!”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile in response – something about Viktor’s easy manner made it all too easy to respond in kind.

“I shouldn’t have laughed. It’s just … the poor sheet music,” and Yuuri snorted again, ducking his head in embarrassment and trying to stop another bout of giggles.

“Ah, well,” Viktor laughed nervously. “I’ve never been very good at taking care of things,” Viktor was rubbing the back of his neck, brow creased apologetically. He handed Yuuri the crumpled pieces of paper. “I hope they’re still legible?”

Yuuri smothered another giggle. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” He swallowed. He couldn’t exactly explain to Viktor that he already knew the piece off by heart. The last few months after the NYCO’s cast announcement, Yuuri had suddenly grown quite fond of _La Bohéme._

And Yuuri soon realised, as he moved to sit at the stool once again and arrange the music in front of him, that being able to laugh in front of Viktor seemed to have taken the edge off of his anxiety. He suddenly found it was quite easy to speak with him. It helped that the man simply oozed charisma, like some kind of incense lamp, overflowing with the stuff. But there was something else that Yuuri couldn’t quite put his finger on. It reminded him of how he felt when he’d walked into Minako’s studio earlier. Like home.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Viktor asked in a small voice, peering over Yuuri’s shoulders at the music. “To accompany me, I mean?”

Yuuri smiled at him, nodding his response. There was still a distant sense of dread at the back of his mind. Like everything was going to come crashing down around him soon because this was just _too good to be true_.

But that sense of being at home – being at ease – wouldn’t leave either.

“I’m glad,” Viktor said happily, suddenly touching Yuuri’s shoulder. The gesture was friendly enough – just a simple touch to show his gratitude. But the sensation sent sparks through Yuuri’s veins all the same, his heart leaping against his ribcage which was _ridiculous_ because it was just a simple touch on the shoulder and—

“Shall we begin?” Viktor asked gently, cocking his head to the side and letting his hair drift down across his eye in a gesture that seemed to be his signature. Yuuri swallowed.

“Sure thing,” he breathed. A bit at a loss, Yuuri adjusted his glasses and turned to focus intently on the music in front of him. He noted the time signature, key, and tempo mechanically, making quick mental adjustments to the piece he knew so well already.

 

“Just as it's written?” he asked, not daring to peek over the piano as Viktor moved to the other side.

“Yeh, if that’s okay?” Viktor asked. He was facing the wall of mirrors, looking back at Yuuri through them with a slightly concerned expression.

“Of course,” Yuuri said softly, moving to rest his fingers over the familiar keys. He would be the one to start the piece, with Viktor joining a few bars in. Yuuri knew how important it was to take cues correctly when accompanying, following the singer’s lead as best he could. Still, he mentally prepared himself, fully expectant of some kind of fallout when he eventually messed it all up.

He glanced over at Viktor expectantly, watching him through the mirror. But the other man had his eyes closed, lips moving infinitesimally, almost like a prayer, though Yuuri figured he was counting from the way his hand tapped against his leg in a soft rhythm. Yuuri tried to follow the tempo in his mind, absently tapping his own foot lightly over the foot pedals.

Viktor opened his eyes, expression determined, and gave Yuuri a small nod.

And Yuuri’s fingers danced across the keys.

The song was pure muscle memory for Yuuri at this point, his fingers gliding and twisting across the keys as easy as breathing. There was a nervousness at first, but that strange, disarming sense of being _at home_ still resonated somewhere in his chest. Despite himself, Yuuri could feel his eyes closing, mind drifting into the music like it was coming from somewhere far deeper than just his fingers.

And then Viktor’s cue came, and he started singing.

Yuuri had also accompanied classical singers before. It was slightly trickier than most other genres, on account of having to work in sync with the singer so intimately. Yuuri found he usually struggled to fit well with whoever he was accompanying, often awkwardly catching up or forcing himself to slow as the singer took the lead. And that was fine, since the music would often follow the singer, in most cases. However, the accompanist had to know when to lead as well. It was like a dance – intricately woven through a mutual understanding of what kind of music they wanted to create together.

With Viktor it was different.

Yuuri had only heard famous singers perform this particular aria – Pavarotti was what came to mind first, though Yuuri had also sifted through a few other performers. Their renditions were famous for a reason, though he knew, from the first, that it wouldn’t take long for Viktor’s name to be added to the ranks.

Because his voice was like an entirely new instrument. His pitch was perfect, inflection and pronunciation flawless, vocal control beyond anything Yuuri had ever heard before. As he fell into the next passage, Yuuri wondered distantly at how much strength Viktor would have had to have built up to be able to sing in such a way. His voice carried so strongly Yuuri could feel it vibrating through the piano under his fingers, sending strange sensations up and along his arms.

Viktor was dragging the words ever so slightly, eyes closed as he tried to convey the emotion behind the lyrics. Yuuri wasn’t too sure what the direct translation was, though he’d looked it up often enough in the past to understand the general feeling of it.

The aria’s story followed Rodolfo, a playwright who falls in love with his neighbour Mimi, and their meeting in a dark attic. It was hailed as one of the more romantic Operatic moments, Mimi searching for her keys in the dark, Rodolfo fumbling along beside her and reaching for her hand, serenading her on the spot. Not to mention the fact it all takes place on Christmas Eve.

Yuuri fell in with Viktor’s tempo easily, vaguely remembering that this was the part where Rodolfo began to tell Mimi about himself. Began to open up.

And as he glanced up towards the mirror, he could see Viktor opening – or more, _blossoming_ \- in response to the lyrics. His face had melted into an expression of pure vulnerability, arms lifting and outstretching towards the invisible woman he was serenading. Yuuri swelled his playing to match Viktor’s passion, embellishments coming easy and flowing off the tips of his fingers like water, mixing with Viktor’s voice in a way that was almost hypnotic.

And Viktor slowed his pace, opening his eyes lazily – almost coyly – as he asked a question to the mirror:

“ _Vuole?”_

Yuuri blinked.

Viktor’s eyes were pure sapphire under the soft studio lights, glistening and overwhelming as they pierced him through the mirror.

It took Yuuri a while to realise he had stopped playing entirely.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice rang clear through the studio as he addressed him, still melodic, but jarringly different to the soft notes of the aria he had been singing just before.

And Viktor was still staring at him, though his face slowly creased into an expression of genuine concern, the act completely forgotten.

Yuuri gasped for air, realising his fingers were completely frozen over the keys. Why had he stopped? What was happening?

Had he just imagined…?

“S—Sorry! Let’s try it again,” he rushed to reposition, flicking his eyes over the music in front of him. “From the first _Chi son_ , yes?” Yuuri felt his tongue stumble over the strange words, absently chewing on his lower lip to try and bull through the embarrassment.

“Please,” Viktor said softly, glancing down at his feet.

Yuuri forced his hands to move, certain that Viktor could hear just how rapidly his heart was thudding in his ribcage. He awkwardly picked up a few bars where Viktor was due to begin, pressing out the melody mechanically. Soon Viktor was humming along with the notes, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes before he picked back up at the start of the passage.

They eventually fell back into a steady rhythm, Yuuri finding he was able to focus entirely on the sounds and swell of Viktor’s voice far easier when he _wasn’t_ looking at him. The sound was still beautiful – heartachingly so, at points. It didn’t take long for Yuuri’s initial embarrassment at his mistake to fade as he let himself be enveloped by the music once again. Embellishments began flourishing in between Viktor’s words, lifting and swelling as the song grew to a crescendo.

Yuuri’s eyes were closed as they finished, his last gentle chords echoing through the studio.

As reality filtered through Yuuri’s mind, he felt Viktor’s eyes on him once again. With a jolt, he snapped his own eyes open, glancing around and finding Viktor staring at him directly this time, turned away from the mirror and peering over the lid of the grand. He looked…

Yuuri furrowed his brow.

Viktor didn’t say anything, just stood there, staring in a way that started to make Yuuri wildly self-conscious.

“S—Sorry,” he whispered again, desperate to fill the silence. “I’ve never … been very good at Puccini.”

Viktor seemed confused at his words, still staring intently. He opened his mouth, seemingly unable to respond as his lips opened and closed.

“V—Viktor?” Yuuri moved to stand.

“No! I mean…” Viktor passed a hand over his face and Yuuri felt his stomach drop uncomfortably. It was terrible. It must have been. He’d lost himself again – he was hardly aware of what he’d even played. Unprofessional. A complete lack of discipline, just like Madame Baranovskaya had said—

“It was beautiful,” Viktor said in a soft voice, hand still covering his eyes as he spoke. He had one hand on his hip, and all Yuuri could think was that he _must_ be lying, standing there like some kind of impatient teacher disappointed in his student.

“Hardly,” Yuuri whispered, clearing his throat to try and work away the painful lump that had started forming there.

He’d fucked it up.

He’d fucked it all up.

“It’s … getting late,” Yuuri said eventually, shuffling the crumpled papers into a neater pile and placing them gently on top of Viktor’s coat. He was suddenly desperate to get out of that studio, desperate to get home and sit in the shower for hours. Maybe listen to some depressing jazz. Maybe ball his eyes out.

“Yes,” Viktor agreed in a clipped voice, carding his hand through his hair and glancing off towards the windows behind Yuuri, not meeting his eye.  

Yuuri moved to gather his things, gripping his satchel like it was some kind of lifeline before he began to leave. He could hear Viktor rustling through his own things behind him, heels tapping on the floorboards as he moved to join him at the door.

Yuuri would have to lock up, he thought absently as he noted the time on the clock above the door. Minako’s receptionist had surely gone home by now. And Yuuri might have to wait for the next bus. Luckily, he’d remembered his gloves despite the panic of the morning, so he wouldn’t completely freeze to death while he waited.

They made their way to the front door, Yuuri remembering to flick the lights off as they went with Viktor a few steps behind him. Every second that passed felt like an eternity as Yuuri’s thoughts spiralled into a dark whirlpool of nervousness. He’d made an absolute fool out of himself, that much was undeniably certain. Had probably managed to tarnish Minako’s reputation as well. She’d clearly been the one to recommend Yuuri as an accompanist. He wondered how he was going to make it up to her…

Once they reached the main door, Yuuri paused and held it open for Viktor, wincing slightly as the bitterly cold night air swirled in from outside. He shrugged his scarf closer, half hiding his face in its folds as he stared at the floor. He watched on as Viktor’s shoes drifted past slowly. Once Viktor was outside, Yuuri busied himself with the door, flicking out his set of keys and locking the studio, checking the handle. Twice.

He’d expected Viktor to already be moving away at that point, so he was a little surprised to turn and find himself face to face with him. The other man seemed to still be staring at him intensely, and Yuuri instinctively reached up to his face to make sure he didn’t have anything stuck there.

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor said suddenly, breath puffing out in clouds. “I really appreciate you … taking the time.” The words sounded almost awkward, and Yuuri squinted to try and figure out exactly what kind of expression Viktor was making. Was he annoyed? Frustrated at Yuuri’s lacklustre performance? Angry?

“Anytime,” Yuuri mumbled into his scarf, ducking his head and tucking the keys back into his satchel.

“Really?” Viktor asked, suddenly stepping closer, voice rising in excitement. Yuuri blinked, struggling to respond;

“What do you me—”

“—You’d do it again?” Viktor interrupted, almost breathless as he stepped even closer. Yuuri was momentarily distracted by the little puffs of hot air that escaped Viktor’s lips and circled in the breeze just above his own face.

“I—If you want,” Yuuri managed to say, voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor worried at his bottom lip, glancing down to the pavement between them. His eyebrows drew together, like he was trying to calculate something very important on the spot.

“I do,” he said suddenly, meeting Yuuri’s gaze. His face was serious, and it seemed like he was trying to get a message across as he stared, eyes slightly worried…

“O—Okay,” was all Yuuri could squeak out, that same rushing sound thudding in his ears as his heart picked up again. Because Viktor was close. _Really_ close. Close enough that Yuuri could see the soft flush at the tip of Viktor’s nose…

“I—I’ll find you on campus, then?” Viktor asked.

“Sure…” Yuuri breathed, though it took a moment for his brain to catch up. “O—Or, I could just give you my number?”

Viktor’s brow shot up and Yuuri felt his stomach sink again. Was that too forward? Was it normal for them to exchange numbers? Was there a guidebook for how to ask a tenor to let you accompany them?

“Yes! Of course! Here’s my phone,” Viktor stuffed his hands into his pockets, rummaging for a moment and muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Was he speaking Russian again?

He suddenly produced a rather large – and almost obnoxiously expensive – smartphone with a flashy cover. It even had a ring at the end for charms, a little chibi poodle dangling off it, catching the streetlight and flashing. Viktor all but crammed the phone into Yuuri’s hands.

“Add your number and I’ll text you,” he said quickly.

Yuuri took a moment to woodenly punch his number in. The phone was _huge –_ his thumbs hardly reaching across the screen as he tried to type out his full name in. He handed it back to Viktor gently.

“Thank you Yuuri,” Viktor said, offering him a warm smile as he held his phone in both hands. Yuuri tucked his face deeper into his scarf, desperate to hide as much of the blush that was creeping across his cheeks as he could.

“Let me know when best suits you…” Yuuri heard himself say, though his voice sounded very distant, like someone else was speaking. Why was Viktor acting like this? Was he trying to make Yuuri feel better? He’d clearly botched the whole thing – surely Viktor wouldn’t want to repeat it?

“I will. Are you okay to get home on your own?” Viktor asked, concern creasing his brow. Yuuri nodded, glancing down the street.

“There’s a bus soon that’ll take me right to our apartment,” he said, leaning out to see if he could see it coming already. There was a bus at a far set of traffic lights that looked like it might be the one he was after.

He heard Viktor make a strange sound, though the traffic was loud enough that Yuuri couldn’t quite be sure he hadn’t just imagined it. He glanced back, lifting his hand awkwardly in a wave.

“See you,” he said, turning quickly on his heels. He heard Viktor’s “Goodbye,” though he didn’t turn back to see if he’d waved or not. He couldn’t. It was impossible.

He was sure that if he ever looked at Viktor’s face again, his heart would stop completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMMM I SHOULD SLEEP BUT I'M TOO EXCITED. YUURI YOU'RE A DUMBASS.
> 
> I meant for this chapter to have far more included, but the scene itself suddenly grew into something much larger, so I cut the chapter off a little. The next one will probably be up sometime tomorrow, depending~
> 
>  _La Bohéme_ is just so beautiful I'm: love. The part where Viktor speaks to Yuuri through the mirror ( _Vuole?_ ) is the part where Ridolfo asks "May I?" to Mimi, wanting to share more of himself with her. I never thought the song would layer _this_ beautifully with Viktor and Yuuri's story it's just so *dramatic sigh* BEAUTIFUL.
> 
> As always, hit me with all your comments, questions, criticisms, ideas. Anything and everything, it _feeds_ me.
> 
> Also if you haven't already, please find the aria itself [ here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0wD5kBb3-bQ). I found a nice version with English subtitles because the lyrics are just *wheeze* achingly beautiful. Though the music would sound slightly different with just piano, the singing would be more or less the same~
> 
> Much operatic and overly dramatic love as always,
> 
> \- Min
> 
> Translations/ explanations:
> 
> "Che Gelida Manina" - what a cold hand/ what a frozen little hand. This is the name of the aria, but is also the first line that kicks the scene off where Ridolfo finds Mimi's hand in the dark. (IT'S COLD BECAUSE SHE'S SICK PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A TRAGEDY I'M STILL NOT OVER IT)
> 
> "Vuole?" - May I? A lyric from the aria.
> 
> "прекрасный" - Beautiful (same as the last chapter, though Yuuri's too Flustered™ to figure that much out~)
> 
> "Chi son" - Who am I? A lyric from the aria.


	3. Improv

Yuuri heard Phichit yelling at him before he’d even opened the apartment door.

“…think you can just waltz in here at 11:30 at night without so much as a _text_ , you’ve got another thing coming! You piece of shit!” Yuuri winced as he turned his key in the lock, opening the door. He knew Phichit was just teasing him, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty all the same.

Phichit and Yuuri’s apartment was small, cramped enough without the massive Yamaha keyboard that Yuuri had managed to squeeze into the corner. When they’d moved in, it was a toss-up between either a table and chairs or a practice corner. Both had agreed that a table and chairs were entirely optional when there was a perfectly good sofa to eat on, so most of the far side of the room was taken up by Yuuri’s piano and a series of cheap bookshelves fit to bursting with books, music, and various folders. Phichit’s saxophone case and music stand were against the wall next to the piano as well.

Phichit himself was sitting on the couch, some kind of sappy rom-com playing on the tv across from him, though the volume was quiet, Phichit not even looking at the screen. He had one earbud in instead, with a bunch of charts strewn across the couch and the little pile of crates that served as a coffee table in the middle of the room. Yuuri still couldn’t quite wrap his head around Phichit’s obsession with overstimulation – if he didn’t have some kind of movie on and music blaring in his ears, he couldn’t concentrate on his study. Yuuri often had to lock himself in his room or use the school’s studios just to make sure he had absolute silence.

Yuuri gave Phichit an apologetic smile, and Phichit glared back with all the venom he could muster.

“Eight!” he said suddenly, folding his arms and huffing as Yuuri slowly set his coat on the hooks behind the door.

“Eight…?” Yuuri asked quietly before one of the couch cushions was hurled at his head. He ducked with a little noise, blinking in shock.

“Eight missed calls!” Phichit yelled again. “I even called Minako! She said she’d left you at the studio after practice… with _Viktor_.”

Yuuri winced, ducking his head as he unravelled his scarf. “Yeah…”

“Don’t _yeah_ me. Details. Now,” Phichit reached over and paused the movie, yanking out his earbuds and shuffling over on the couch so that Yuuri could sit next to him. To anyone else, Phichit’s behaviour would probably come across as rude, but after three years of friendship, Yuuri knew this was just Phichit’s way of showing he cared, even if it felt like it was shortening Yuuri’s lifespan.

“Can I at least get some dinner first?” Yuuri asked exasperatedly. Now that he was finally in the safety of his own home, he’d suddenly realised just how hungry he was. And _tired._ His eyes had grown heavy on the bus ride home, but it was even more prominent now as he realised he’d have to explain everything to Phichit before he’d be allowed to go to bed.

“In the pot on the stove. It’s probably cold by now since you’re, like, _three hours late_ coming home,” Phichit narrowed his eyes. Yuuri found himself laughing despite everything.

“I thought we went over this. We’re only married if neither of us finds someone by the time we’re 50,” Yuuri grinned, feeling triumphant when he saw Phichit’s frown twitch into a little smirk.

“I feel like I’m 50 after worrying about your ass all night,” Phichit threw back at him, but he seemed to have cooled, smirk turning into a smile that Yuuri returned easily.

He moved into their little kitchen, finding a big pot of noodles on the stove and throwing some into a bowl before he chucked it in the microwave. He opted to lean on the counter and wait, watching the bowl spin as his mind wandered.

“Did you kiss at least?” Phichit called from the couch, now turned to face him, leaning over the back. Yuuri groaned.

“No, Phichit, I didn’t kiss the dude I only just met today,” he sighed, reaching for a set of plastic chopsticks that were resting on the dishrack. “I’m not like you,” he added with a teasing tone. Phichit stuck out his tongue.

“Honestly Yuuri, at this rate we _will_ end up married.”

The microwaved beeped, Yuuri taking the bowl and feeling his stomach rumble as he smelt the familiar spices. He cradled the bowl in one arm, taking it with him down to the couch, mentally bracing himself for Phichit’s questions.

“But first,” Phichit said, face ridiculously serious… and he suddenly flung himself at Yuuri, crushing him in a bear hug that was quite impressive despite Phichit’s slightly smaller frame. Yuuri smiled as he held the noodles out of the way.

“I’m proud of you for surviving today,” Phichit said softly, all trace of his grumpy act disappearing. “I know it must have been really stressful.”

“Thank you Phichit,” Yuuri said warmly, breaking out of the hug a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry it took me all day to fill you in.”

“Not even _one text_ Yuuri! Come on!”

“I know! I know … I kind of zoned out on the bus …” Yuuri rubbed the back of his head, glancing down at his lap.

“You’re forgiven,” Phichit said with a mock serious expression. “Now, start at the beginning.” He was shuffling away and sitting cross-legged on the couch, posture stiff as he waited expectantly.

“There’s not much to say, honestly…” Yuuri began, picking at his food with his chopsticks, blowing gently on the noodles with the bowl on his lap. “Madame Baranovskaya is a dragon lady and she hates my guts,” he said matter-of-factly, focussing on picking up as much of the delicious noodles as he could. “The cashier at the café hates my guts, too,” he added, looking up with a thoughtful expression.

“And,” his voice lowered, eyes trailing down to the floor. “I’m probably the worst accompanist in the world since Viktor hates my guts now as well,” and then he stuffed his face, eyes downcast as he chewed, trying to add some sense of finality to what he’d said. He knew Phichit would try and argue with him, but there was no use. He knew it was true. “That’s it, basically.”

Phichit sighed next to him, leaning back on the couch. “Yuuri, they don’t hate your guts. Well… Lilia might, but she hates _everyone_ and _everything,_ so don’t go thinking you’re too special,” Phichit tapped him with his foot to get Yuuri’s attention and they both laughed a little.

“Viktor definitely hates me though,” Yuuri said quietly, hand stilling as he stared back at the floor.

“Yuuri,” Phichit said with a warning tone, “Remember what we talked about? Try and imagine the _opposite_ of what your brain demons are saying. Imagine _that’s_ the truth.” Yuuri scoffed in response.

“But it’s _not—”_ Yuuri began before Phichit shushed him.

 _“_ Shh! No. Just _pretend_ it’s true,” Phichit nudged him with his foot again.

Yuuri sighed, taking another mouthful and chewing slowly.

“He asked me to help him practice his aria,” Yuuri said around the food in his mouth, knowing full well that Phichit was still expecting a full recount of the events of the day.

“That’s good, Yuuri,” Phichit said a little excitedly. “Easy, too, since you’ve been playing it since you found out he got the part,” he added, waggling his eyebrows. Yuuri smiled and ducked his head.

“I thought so too, but…” he trailed off, the memory still a little too bitter in his mind, drawing his eyebrows together.

“What?” Phichit frowned before he let out a little gasp. “Oh no, don’t tell me,” he was sitting up now, eyes wide. “Is Viktor one of _those_ singers? Did he nit-pick your playing like he was a piano major? Was he rushing? Oh my god,” he clapped a hand dramatically over his mouth. “Yuuri, was he _out of tune_?”

Yuuri rolled his eyes. “No, of course not. He was perfect. It was all me,” he sighed, suddenly finding he had no appetite despite feeling starved just seconds before. He put his bowl down on the coffee table, careful not to let it touch Phichit’s charts.

“What did you do?” Phichit asked gently.  
“It _started_ well,” Yuuri said softly, leaning back in the couch and staring at the ceiling. “He’s a great singer, and easy to follow. I hardly had to think about it at all, it kind of just … worked.” Yuuri chewed on his lower lip, bringing his arm up to cover his eyes. “And then I fucked it all up.”

“You can’t have fucked it up that badly if it was going so well,” Phichit pointed out. Yuuri groaned.

“No, it was like… you know Minako’s studio, right? With all the mirrors? Well… I could see him singing and I kind of got…” Yuuri felt his cheeks begin to burn.

“What, you got distracted by his ridiculously good looks?” Phichit said with a smirk.

“Pretty much,” Yuuri sighed.

“So what? You missed a few notes?” Phichit seemed confused.

“I stopped playing entirely, like, right in the middle. Which would usually be fine but…” Yuuri winced, the memory all too fresh. “He looked at me so strangely. And it wasn’t just that I _stopped_ , I completely zoned out…”

Phichit giggled, “Carried away imagining Viktor’s strong tenor voice, and strong tenor arms, and soft tenor lips…” Phichit was wriggling around on the couch, doing his best impression of a love-sick teenager. Yuuri jabbed him with the back end of his chopsticks and Phichit cried out through his giggles.

“I’m serious!” Yuuri said desperately. “I totally fucked up! And it was so _awkward_ afterwards.”

Phichit let out a rush of air. “I mean, it was your first session together. I’m sure he didn’t mind. It’s just practice, after all, you’re not meant to get it perfect first try.”

Yuuri sunk lower in the couch, wanting nothing more than to let the cushions swallow him whole. “He totally hates me.”

“Yuuri…” Phichit said gently, reaching over and rubbing his shoulder. “He doesn’t hate you, ok? Remember? Imagine the opposite of what you’re thinking is true.”

Suddenly, Yuuri’s phone vibrated in his back pocket and he jumped. Why was his phone vibrating? Was it a text? That was pretty much impossible. The only person who texted him was Phichit and Phichit was sitting right there. He seemed to be just as surprised as Yuuri, gesturing for Yuuri to get his phone out, sitting up slightly with a curious look on his face.

Yuuri leapt to grab his phone, yanking it out of his pocket and scrambling to hold it up in front of him.

And all the colour drained from his face.

Phichit leant over with his brow furrowed, expression quickly morphing into a sly grin as he looked at the screen.

“See what I mean?” he said with a very distinct I-told-you-so tone. “The _opposite_ of what you’re thinking.”

Yuuri could barely breathe.

They were staring at the lock screen, and there in the middle was a notification for a text message.

A text message from _Viktor._

“Shit…” Yuuri breathed, glancing up to Phichit with wide eyes. “What do I do?”

“You open it Yuuri, you dumbass!” Phichit squealed, leaning closer to get a better look.

Yuuri swallowed, slowly unlocking his phone and tapping open his messages. Sure enough, there was a text from Viktor. The number hadn’t been saved yet, obviously, but Yuuri could tell who it was from the first line, which had conveniently shown up on his lock screen as well:

 ** > Hey, It’s Viktor ** **(** **⁀** **♡** **⁀** **)**

“Is that … fucking kaomoji?” Phichit hissed, face all but pressed against Yuuri’s as he eyed the screen with a squint.

“Kao… what?” Yuuri whispered, thumb still hovering over the text, not quite able to bring himself to open it properly. He felt his cheeks flushing ever so slightly as he looked at the little face Viktor had added. Yuuri distantly wondered how he’d even made it.

“Honestly Yuuri, are you even Japanese?” Phichit rolled his eyes, bumping Yuuri’s shoulder with his own impatiently. “Open it already!”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He hit the message with his thumb, screwing his eyes shut as it opened.

“Oh…” Phichit gasped, voice quiet.

After a beat, Yuuri dared to open his eyes, peeking at the screen…

 ** > ** **Hey, It’s Viktor** **(** **⁀** **♡** **⁀** **) Thanks for tonight! You play so beautifully~ How have I never heard you before!** **(** **≧** **♡** **≦** **)**

And there was a noise. It sounded kind of like a buzzing – or a droning… then it came into focus and Yuuri realised it was him. He was making the noise. His mouth was open and he was just…

“Holy shit, Yuuri,” Phichit breathed, glancing up at him, eyes sparkling. “The dude’s in love with you.”

“N—N—No he’s not!” Yuuri gasped, all but dropping his phone as he suddenly lost control of all of his motor functions at once. He somehow managed to still hold the phone in his grip, bringing it right up to his face and reading the text over and over.

“H—He’s just being nice,” he whispered, fixating on the little faces and thinking he could _almost_ imagine Viktor making those exact expressions…

“Uh huh. Sure,” Phichit leaned away slightly, looking at Yuuri expectantly. “What are you gonna say?”

Yuuri swallowed. “I … I have to reply?” he breathed.

“Oh my god Yuuri,” Phichit slapped his hands over his eyes – a perfect rendition of a facepalm.

“I don’t … I can’t…” the thought of replying had Yuuri’s stomach doing somersaults. What would he _say_? He hardly ever messaged people, except the few friends he had online, but that didn’t count. They were all gamers with their own jargon and inside jokes. And most of the conversations he’d had were in group chats or Discord servers where he could stay silent most of the time.

This was different.

This was _Viktor_.

“Just start with ‘Thank you,’” Phichit offered, leaning back over Yuuri’s phone and watching patiently. Yuuri tried to concentrate on stopping his hands from shaking.

Thank you. Yeah. That sounded like a good idea. He typed it out slowly, careful not to put his fingers anywhere near the ‘send’ button.

“Okay…” Yuuri let out a huff of air. “Now what?”

“Compliment him back,” Phichit said quickly, gesturing to where Viktor had told Yuuri he played … beautifully. Yuuri felt his brain try and kickstart itself back into life.

He managed to punch out a few sentences, testing the waters, before settling on something simple.

** >Thank you. You’re a great singer. **

“Is that too much?” Yuuri whispered, reading over the words again and again. Phichit groaned beside him.

“Just stop thinking for two seconds, okay?” he said, reaching his hand out and waving it. “Give it here.”

Yuuri swallowed, clutching the phone closer to his chest. “I don’t trust you.”

“Yuuri, please, you wound me,” Phichit clutched at his chest with a mock pained expression. “I won’t send it, I promise. Just let me write it for you and you can check it afterwards.” He waved his hand again.

Yuuri had to admit that sounded like the better option. He could barely make his fingers work, let alone think about what on earth he should say. He handed the phone over slowly, giving Phichit a look.

 _“Don’t_ send anything,” Yuuri warned, and Phichit nodded seriously.

“Okay, Okay,” Phichit flexed his fingers before he gripped the phone, fingers flurrying across the screen as he typed. “Gotta come across as casual… but interested enough that he has to reply. Keep him guessing—” Yuuri shoved his shoulder and Phichit giggled.

“Okay, how about this?” Phichit flipped the phone around to show him what he’d written.

 ** > Thank you. You’re a great singer. I’m looking forward to accompanying** **you again** **(** **⌒** **‿** **⌒** **)**

Yuuri just about passed out.

“I can’t send that. Oh my god, I can’t send that,” he buried his face in his hands, feeling his blush creep up and over his ears. Phichit was laughing like a maniac.

“Yes, you can! It’s super casual – I send texts like that all the time. Totally platonic!”

Yuuri groaned. “Yeh but you’re _you_. It’s just weird coming from me,” He peeked out from under his hands, wincing at the little face Phichit had added. “And I don’t use those … faces,” Yuuri pointed to the emoji with a wince. “And it’s too forward! I can’t just _assume_ he wants to practice with me again,” Yuuri snatched the phone back, ignoring Phichit’s little cries of indignation as he hurried to delete the message.

“Yuuri no! Okay, okay. How about without the emoji?” Phichit offered, still trying to snatch the phone back as they wrestled on the couch. Yuuri sighed.

“Okay… without the emoji,” Yuuri gave in, Phichit rolling back off him as Yuuri hesitantly typed out the message again. As he read it over, his mind whirled with all the implications the words could hold – all the hidden connotations. But it actually seemed pretty good. He could hardly think of anything else to say, anyway.

He swallowed.

“Are you … sure it’s not too forward?” he asked again, breathless, glancing up at Phichit with a worried look.

“It’s _fine_ Yuuri. Go on. Just send it,” Phichit’s eyes were sparkling again and he was leaning towards Yuuri in his excitement, glancing between him and the phone screen. Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh.

He read it again, for good measure. Making sure the punctuation was correct. Yes, he was sending it to the right number. No emojis. No exclamation marks. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, thumb hovering over the send button.

“Its not a nuclear warhead, Yuuri,” Phichit said after a while, the silence dragging out as Yuuri hesitated.

He let out a little squeak, slamming his thumb down and wincing as he felt the phone vibrate. He’d sent it.

It certainly _felt_ like he’d just sent a nuclear warhead.

“Oh…” Phichit said in a low voice, shoving his face closer to the screen once again. Yuuri glanced down.

Viktor was already typing a response.

“I think … I think I need to go to bed,” Yuuri whispered, leaning back in the couch and letting the phone fall as he felt all of his emotions completely steamroll him. God, he was so _tired_.

“You can do this Yuuri,” Phichit said with an encouraging squeeze to his shoulder. “Don’t you dare take that phone away, I want to see what he says.”

The pair watched the little dots in the speech bubble bump around, indicating that Viktor was in the process of typing. Phichit looked like he was having the time of his life. Yuuri felt like he was seconds away from an aneurysm.

His phone vibrated.

 ** > Aaaa~ Complimented by Yuuri (´ ** **♡** **`  ) I can’t wait to practice again too! When are you free next?**

Just when Yuuri thought his heart couldn’t lodge itself further up his throat, he saw Viktor was typing again. Phichit all but screamed next to him.

 ** > And I meant to ask earlier! Have you heard Yakov’s scouting for his band? ****(„•** **o** **•„** **)** **You should totally audition with me!**

“Yes, Yuuri!” Phichit all but screamed. “Oh my God!” he was standing now, leaning over and shaking Yuuri’s shoulders a little too violently. Yuuri thought he could almost feel his soul leaking out of his body entirely.

“We can all audition together! Please say yes! Holy shit!”

Yuuri distantly registered that he’d dropped his phone, but couldn’t bring himself to care, rocking back and forth as Phichit shook him in his excitement.

All he could think of was throwing his phone off the balcony and never leaving his room again.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Yakov Feltsman’s Institute Band was, indisputably, the most esteemed Music School Jazz Band in the country. They’d won countless competitions, performed at nearly every worthy event, and anyone who was anyone knew that only the best of the best were granted a spot.

Yuuri had heard enough about the band – which most students just called ‘Institute Band’ – from Phichit, who was planning on auditioning this year. He’d tried in the final year of his degree but missed out in favour of another alto-sax. This year, however, so many of the students had finished their studies that Phichit was _certain_ he’d get a chance this time around.

Up until now, Yuuri had always imagined the band was Phichit’s thing. Yuuri’s main focus in his degree was on classical piano, though he’d taken a few Jazz papers as well, and often accompanied Phichit for his recitals. But he’d never once considered auditioning for the piano position in the band, content with just being an alternate pianist for the SIM Orchestra. Besides, he hardly had time around Minako’s performances and his own studies to focus on anything else.

And yet here he was, standing in the library, printing out Jazz charts and organising a whole new folder of potential pieces.

Phichit was with him, eyeing his choices critically.

“This one should be your main piece,” Phichit said matter-of-factly, pointing to a chart named _Lazy Bird_. Yuuri winced when he saw the tempo.

“I still don’t know, Phichit,” he said slowly, grabbing the next stack of papers that had just printed, filing them carefully. “I’m _hopeless_ at jazz.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Phichit said in a sing-song voice. “Half your ideas for your composition are jazz-based. And think about it,” Phichit pointed to the charts. “Learning stuff like this is sure to impress Lilia—”

“Madame Baranovskaya,” Yuuri corrected with a smirk. Phichit rolled his eyes.

“Besides,” he continued, “It’s just an audition! You’ve got nothing to lose – if you get in, you get to hang out with me more because I’m _definitely_ getting in this year,” Phichit mock flicked his hair and Yuuri giggled. “And if you don’t, you lose nothing and go back to doing whatever normies do when they’re not in Institute Band,” Phichit grinned wickedly.

Yuuri sighed, chewing his lower lip. Phichit had a point. There was little he could lose. If anything, at least it was an excuse to see Viktor again.

Yuuri glanced at his phone for the millionth time, checking the overhead library clock on the wall just in case. Phichit watched him.

“We’re meeting at two, right?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly. “Yeh.” Half an hour. He still had half an hour…

“Did he say anything about what to bring?”

“No, he just said we’ll …” Yuuri flicked his phone to his messages again, glancing at the latest one and wincing. “ ' _Make like Louis and wing it._ ’ Phichit. Who’s Louis? What does that even _mean_?”

“Oh my God, Yuuri,” Phichit all but threw himself on the ground in disappointment. “It’s pronounced _Loo-ee._ And he’s only the most famous Jazz musician known to man.”

“This is a bad idea,” Yuuri groaned, leaning on the desk near the printer and clutching his chest. “I’m so out of my depth.”

“That’s why you’ve got me,” Phichit said with a wink, grabbing Yuuri’s folder and flicking through it with an appreciative nod, eventually handing it back to him.

Yuuri’s hands were shaking slightly as he took it, carefully placing it in his satchel. That familiar feeling of his mind spinning out of control was starting to take hold. Why had he agreed to this? Maybe he could still pull out – or at least come up with some excuse. He could say he was sick … or that Lilia wanted to meet with him again? No, that wouldn’t work, Viktor _knew_ Lilia somehow, he’d surely find out, and—

“Yuuri,” he heard from somewhere. “Breathe.”

Oh yeah. Phichit. Right. He was in the library. He glanced up, realising he’d doubled over, blinking slowly as he came to. He glanced up at Phichit, trying to convey as much desperation as he could as he looked him directly in the eye.

“I can’t do this Phichit,” his voice was weak, coming out like an out of tune violin. Phichit sighed, but he creased his brow in concern, all the same, touching Yuuri’s shoulder gently.  
“Yes, you can, Yuuri,” Phichit said, voice soft, rubbing his shoulder. “I’ll be there with you the whole time, remember?”

Yuuri swallowed, feeling his chest grow slightly less tight at the thought. Yes. Phichit would be there. They were all going to practice together. Perhaps Phichit and Viktor would spend the whole time talking and Yuuri could just hide behind the piano…

“Come on. Let’s go get coffee on our way,” Phichit said with a small smile. “My treat.”

Yuuri laughed nervously. “You _must_ be desperate for this if you’re sucking up to me that much.” Somehow, Yuuri found he could breathe a little better. He straightened and reached for his satchel. “But let’s split it. I know you’ve got no money after that game came out.”

Phichit shrugged with a sheepish grin. “You know me too well.”

They made their way to the café – the cashier from the other day absent, much to Yuuri’s relief – and with coffees in hand, they wandered aimlessly towards the practice studios. Yuuri glanced at his phone again – fifteen minutes to go.

Suddenly Phichit’s phone started ringing – his ringtone an 8-bit rendition of one of his favourite songs from that movie he was obsessed with – _The King and the Skater_. He let it ring for a while, humming along with the tune and Yuuri laughed. He answered it with a wink.

“Oh hey, I was wondering when you’d call,” he said with a glance back to Yuuri. “I can’t talk right now, but we’re still on. Yep. Mmhm. And I’ll grab it on the way out. Alright, see ya.” Yuuri watched him curiously.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“No one important. Someone asking for some of my music,” Phichit was still staring at his phone, tapping out some kind of message. But then he shoved it back into his pocket and flashed Yuuri a grin.

“Are you excited yet?”

Yuuri sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. “No. I’d still much rather be practicing on my own,” he glanced back at his phone. Thirteen minutes to go.

“Well, maybe you still can while we wait? We’re nearly there anyway,” Phichit glanced up the hallway and Yuuri looked with him. The studio they were scheduled to use was a larger one on the ground floor. They were maybe a corridor away.

“I might go to the bathroom quickly first,” Yuuri said in a small voice, familiar dread gnawing away at his stomach. He didn’t actually need to go, he just wanted some alone time to try and mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.

Surprisingly, Phichit didn’t comment on it. “Oh sure. I’ll meet you there then?” he offered a small smile and Yuuri narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not going to tell me off…?” Yuuri questioned, and Phichit was suddenly on his phone again, taking little sips of his latte without meeting Yuuri’s eyes.

“Phichit…” Yuuri made his voice stern, watching him intently. “What are you planning?”

Phichit glanced up at him nervously, glancing away. “Nothing, Yuuri!” he said with a little laugh, eyes still fixated on some point on the wall beyond Yuuri’s head. “Sorry, I’m just distracted with this guy … person. Who wants to use my music. The one from before. Anyway, I’ll meet you there!” and suddenly he was sprinting down the hallway, leaving Yuuri alone with his suspicions.

Phichit was definitely planning something. Yuuri almost let himself get swept away with his worries – was Phichit scheming about him and Viktor? Did he have some sort of dreadful surprise waiting for him at the studio?

But then he remembered that Phichit was going to be practicing with them, and his heart rate slowed ever so slightly. He couldn’t be scheming something if _he_ was going to be there himself. Yuuri took a deep breath, making his way to the bathrooms, setting his satchel down and running the faucet. Yuuri took his glasses off, placing them on the bench as he tried to focus.

He was about to practice with Viktor again.

They were practicing Jazz.

But, he reminded himself as the panic tried to settle in, Phichit was going to be there.

That helped.

He cupped his hands and splashed some cool water on his face, relishing the way it was almost painfully icy thanks to the weather. That helped a little too.

He could see himself in the mirror in front of him, hair a little wet, eyes slightly fearful as he stared back at himself.

He could do this.

He could do this…

 

*                       *                       *

 

Viktor still hadn’t arrived by the time Yuuri joined Phichit in the studio, and Yuuri let out a sigh of relief. Phichit was standing by the windows fiddling with something. Yuuri frowned.

“What are you doing?” and Phichit all but squeaked in surprise, spinning around quickly.

“Nothing! Just … texting,” and Yuuri felt his suspicions return. But then Phichit wandered towards him and Yuuri could see the phone in his hands. Yuuri thought for a moment. Maybe Phichit was texting someone he was interested in?

“What’s his name?” Yuuri asked with a playful smirk. Phichit frowned, and then seemed to cotton on, laughing nervously and glancing down at his feet.

“Oh, just this guy I met at a recital…” he laughed again, scuffing his feet. “He’s super cute. You’d like him.” Yuuri smiled.

“Guess we’re putting that marriage on hold after all?” he tossed back over his shoulder as he moved toward the piano, Phichit laughing again.

“ _Such_ a shame,” and he was moving towards the corner where he’d rested his sax on one of the chairs, taking it out and preparing his reeds. Yuuri filed through his folders that were tucked into his satchel, pausing over a familiar one at the back.

“Hey,” he said in a small voice, “Do you mind if I practice some stuff for my solo first?” he asked gently, taking the folder out and flipping through it. “The concert’s not for a while, but the piece is pretty tricky…”

Phichit paused with one of his reeds in his mouth, blinking for a moment. Yuuri narrowed his eyes as Phichit glanced towards the windows, then back again.

“O—Of course not!” Phichit said quickly, sucking the reed and popping it out of his mouth before working to fix it to his sax. “Go for it. I’ve got some music I need to read anyway.”

“Thanks,” Yuuri said slowly, something nagging at the back of his mind, but he squashed it. Now wasn’t the time to be freaking out over Phichit’s weirdness. He was probably just nervous about Mr. Recital. Yuuri took out the familiar piece of music and a small pencil, setting them both on the stand.

It was a rather tricky Ravel piece that one of his teachers – the SIM Orchestra conductor – had suggested he learn for their performance later that semester. Yuuri usually declined solos, but after listening to the piece he found he couldn’t say no, eventually agreeing, much to his conductor’s delight. Thankfully, it was only going to be one solo, unlike the last end of year showcase where Yuuri had had to perform three solo pieces, back to back. He’d messed up, of course. Luckily his set was just before the first years, so nobody even noticed alongside their messy renditions of _Flight of the Bumblebee_ or Beethoven’s 5, the crowd going wild for the familiar pieces. He rolled his eyes. One day they’d scrap those sorts of pieces from the curriculum entirely. The day he didn’t have to play _Flight of the Bumblebee_ to impress his family at CNY, or show off at a party was going to be the best day of his life.

Yuuri scanned the sheets briefly, grabbing his pencil and adding a few more notes to the margins. He was having a bit of trouble with some of the tempo changes, so he wanted to make sure he drilled them in as early as possible. Putting the pencil down, he opted to perform a few quick stretches, twisting his hands and bending his fingers back one by one. He glanced back to Phichit who already had his headphones in, mouthing his reed again and glancing over some music of his own.

Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He could hear the piece playing through his mind, and as he let out a steady breath, he let himself drift along with it, moving his fingers into the correct positions over the keys.

The music began.

The piece always prompted a very clear image in Yuuri’s mind. A creek and a forest. Yuuri tried to imagine the stream as he played, bubbling and swirling over rocks and moss, twisting its way through the quiet forest like honey. He let his fingers fall lightly on the keys, foot tapping on the pedals at just the right moment to let the notes linger where they should. He opened his eyes to glance at the music, registering where he was up to and taking note of the upcoming change, letting his body rock slowly as it came to the fore. His fingers flowed along the keys, the muscle memory allowing Yuuri to close his eyes and let the sounds carry him.

He made a few mistakes, but he hardly noticed them.

The piece was beautiful – intricate, challenging, surprising. There were flourishes and changes that made Yuuri’s chest swell with excitement, shifts in tempo that left Yuuri aching, deep resonant chords that had his brow creasing and his mouth opening slightly.

Something in the back of his mind registered a change in the room, but with his eyes closed and his ear so focussed on the sounds he was hearing, he could hardly bring himself to care.

A nearby flick of paper had him opening his eyes, and he glanced to the music. The paper had turned, and something told him he should be concerned about that fact, but as he registered where he was up to, he felt himself get swept away again, dipping his shoulders and leaning into the piano as the notes swelled into a crescendo.

He picked up speed, fingers dancing furiously over the keys, his right-hand cascading down as he performed the intricate scales and tremolos with ease.

He knew he was close to the end, body adjusting as he shifted his hands higher, back to where he’d begun. The last passage was similar to the first, with a softer sense of completion and finality in each note. Yuuri tried to convey what he was feeling – a bubbling stream that surged into a river, and then fell, settling itself into stillness as it bled out across an ocean.

He had his eyes closed, hair dishevelled and tickling his brow, breath coming in short gasps.

In the silence that followed, reality came crashing back to him and he flung his eyes open.

There was a pale hand with long fingers resting on the stand in front of him, an arm caging him in on one side. He followed it up, seeing it meet a broad shoulder, a slim neck, silver hair …

“Amazing,” Viktor whispered, eyes huge and shimmering in the low light of the studio, fixed on him. He was distantly aware of Phichit’s loud clapping nearby, though he suddenly found he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“Th—Thank you…” he breathed, swallowing thickly as his mind raced to keep pace with reality.

“Perfect timing Viktor!” Phichit called loudly, causing Viktor to flick his eyes away from Yuuri’s. His face was close, and Yuuri was painfully aware of the soft sensation of warmth emanating from Viktor’s chest, which hung behind him as he leaned on the piano.

“Every prodigy needs a good page-turner,” he replied, flashing Yuuri a quick wink before straightening and moving away. Yuuri let out a long breath.

Viktor really needed to stop surprising him like that. He liked having a functioning heart.

Yuuri frowned.

What had he meant by _page-turner_?

Yuuri gasped, turning toward Viktor with a look of pure shock.

“You turned my pages?” he blurted out, awkwardly scooting the stool back with a loud _screech_ as he stood. Viktor turned back, face expressionless.

“Of course,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Was I not meant to?”

“N—No!” Yuuri stammered, feeling his cheeks grow hotter and the tips of his ears burn. “I didn’t … I didn’t even notice…” he trailed off, staring at his feet in embarrassment.

Phichit laughed, slinging his sax across his shoulder and shaking his head. “That’s Yuuri for you. Always lost in the music.” Yuuri swallowed. He still couldn’t quite believe Viktor had shown up already – was _still_ coming to terms with the fact that they were about to _practice_ together. Again. He was grateful that Phichit was there to fill the silences, but he also really, _really_ didn’t need him pointing out such embarrassing things to Viktor.

But Viktor was giving Yuuri a strange look. Something like … awe?

“Incredible,” he said softly. “I wish I could do that,” and his tone was genuine.

Viktor wished he could … what?

“Th—Thanks,” Yuuri mumbled, unsure how to respond. Having Viktor’s eyes on him, staring at him like that, it was…

“Shall we get started?” Phichit asked brightly, interrupting his train of thought and blowing a few notes into his sax, adjusting it on his shoulder. “What was it you said? Make like Louis and wing it?” he laughed, and Viktor turned back, laughing too.

“Did you know,” Phichit said slowly, still focussed on his instrument. “Yuuri called him ‘ _Lewis_ ,’” Phichit continued, flashing Yuuri a smirk. Viktor laughed again, the sound unfairly melodic despite how it made Yuuri’s stomach drop.

“Adorable,” Viktor said, flashing Yuuri his grin again. Phichit was watching on with a teasing expression, and Yuuri suddenly felt like he could have strangled him right then and there. He made eyes at him to try and get him to stop, only making Phichit’s grin wider.

“I wasn’t too sure where to start, or what piece we should even do for the audition, so I figured we could improv a bit?” Viktor said after a beat, reaching into his pockets and pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen for a moment before settling on whatever he was looking for, flashing the screen to Phichit.

“Oh, yes,” Phichit’s voice grew higher in excitement “I love this song,” and Phichit was pretty much bouncing on his feet. “And it has parts for all of us! It’s perfect.”

“Mhm, that’s what I was thinking,” Viktor walked back towards the piano, flashing Yuuri the screen. The little poodle charm was still there, twinkling in the light.

Yuuri looked at the screen where Viktor had opened Spotify. At the centre was a big, eye-catching album, a chromatic hexagonal colour wheel on a white background that looked vaguely familiar, though Yuuri couldn’t quite place it.

“I … Belong to You?” Yuuri asked with a quizzical brow as he read the title. Phichit snickered in the distance and Yuuri shot him a warning look. Viktor made a strange noise at the back of his throat.

“Y--Yeah. It’s one of my favourites,” Viktor said, voice sounding a little strangled. “It’s quite a simple song, but maybe we could spice it up a bit?” he seemed to be looking at Yuuri expectantly.

Was he … asking for permission?

Yuuri swallowed, adjusting his glasses and nodding. “Sure thing,” he said quietly.

“Okay!” Viktor’s shoulders relaxed. “I brought the music with me,” he started walking over to the chairs, rummaging through a rather expensive looking bag, producing a very shiny looking folder and waving it proudly. Yuuri couldn’t help but smile.

“You actually took care of your sheet music this time? I’m impressed.”

Viktor laughed again, grinning and rubbing the back of his neck. “I couldn’t bring myself to let you down a second time.”  
Yuuri could see Phichit making faces out of the corner of his eye, and he resisted the urge to pull the finger, smiling back at Viktor.

He realised, after a moment, that that familiar sense of ease had returned. Of coming home.

It was … nice.

Clearing his throat, Yuuri glanced back to Viktor’s phone. “I have a speaker if you want to play it for us?” Yuuri offered, making his way to his own bag where his Bluetooth speaker was tucked into one of the pockets.

“Oh, sure,” Viktor said eagerly, flicking through his phone. “It has two parts – the more poppy beginning and ending, with lots of fun piano and a sax solo,” he glanced to Phichit who gave him a knowing nod. “And then there’s an _adorable_ French Operatic solo in the middle. With piano. It would be better with drums, but maybe I could ask Otabek to help…” Viktor trailed off as he focussed on his phone, Yuuri setting the speaker on the windowsill. He noticed something tucked under the curtains out of the corner of his eye, almost reaching to check what it was before a loud crashing noise had him turning around.

“Shit, my bad,” Phichit said with a nervous laugh, reaching for his music stand that was sprawled on the floor. Yuuri laughed, snapping his fingers in Phichit’s direction.

“Earth to Phichit. Stop thinking about Mr. Recital,” and he laughed as Phichit looked up at him with an annoyed expression.

“Hey, _I’m_ the one who teases in our relationship, thank you very much,” he shot back, though he was grinning in response. Viktor made another one of those strange noises at the back of his throat and Yuuri glanced back towards him. He seemed to be eyeing Phichit warily, brow creased. Like he was trying to figure something out. Like something was upsetting him.

“L—Let’s hear it then,” Yuuri said quickly, finding he wanted to distract Viktor from whatever thoughts were making his face do that. It didn’t seem natural. He didn’t like it.

Viktor snapped back to reality, beaming with another smile that simultaneously made Yuuri feel relieved and overwhelmingly excited. He took in a sharp breath, gesturing that the speaker was ready for Viktor to use.

The song was catchy. While it played, Viktor handed both of them their charts, and as Yuuri glanced over them, he was sure he’d heard the song somewhere before. When the saxophone solo came in close to the end, his brain managed to put two and two together.

“Oh, _this_ one,” he said, glancing and smiling at Phichit.

“Yeah, remember that concert?” Phichit was laughing now, “Oh god, I don’t want to think about it. I was such a fanboy.”

“I remember,” Yuuri said with a little laugh. “You even wore the shirt. _That’s_ why the album was familiar.”

The song came to a close, Yuuri distantly aware of Viktor’s eyes on him as it did so. He glanced back, blush creeping across his cheeks as he noticed how intently Viktor was staring after him. Was he gauging his reaction? Surely not. Surely he knew that whatever song he chose, Yuuri would be more than happy to play. Would probably be adding to his playlist after practice and listening to on repeat for the next month. At least.

“Is it okay?” Viktor asked, brow slightly creased.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, a little too quickly. “It’s beautiful. And it’ll sound much better if you sing it, I’m sure,” he smiled, turning away and glancing to Phichit who was giving him a discreet thumbs up. Yuuri rolled his eyes. Viktor cleared his throat.

“Since we’re meant to be showcasing our jazz talent, we should probably improv some of it, right?” Phichit offered, testing his keys and flicking through the charts that Viktor had given him on his music stand. “The sax solo is great, but I can do a bit better than that,” he smirked. “And Yuuri can _definitely_ do better than Matt Bellamy, no matter how godlike he is.”

Yuuri ducked his head, though he had to agree. The piano was great – fun to listen to with just the right number of flourishes – but Yuuri knew he could do more. He was already mapping out a few ideas in his mind, going over some of the glissandos and calculating whether he could add a few tremolos…

“Definitely,” Viktor replied levelly, his face oddly serious, one finger tapping on his lips in a curious gesture that Yuuri hadn’t seen before. It was quite difficult to stop himself from staring...

“Let’s give it a try and …see where we can go from there?” Viktor offered, reaching for his own music stand and moving to set it up on the other side of the piano.

They ended up talking for a while about the different passages, Yuuri suggesting Phichit play along for most of the song instead of waiting for his solo, Viktor suggesting a few extra bars for a jazz piano solo in the middle of the Operatic part. Phichit suggesting they form their own Muse inspired band, everyone laughing.

Eventually, with a few pencil notes scrawled in the margins, Yuuri had a rough idea of what to play. He tested a few bars while Viktor warmed up, offering some scales and chords every now and then which Viktor seemed to appreciate.

Their first run through was a bit of a mess, though Phichit eased the tension immeasurably. Yuuri was sure he would have run out the door by now if Phichit wasn’t there to laugh or swear or offer some sort of joke every time one of them made a mistake. And somehow, since all three of them were coming at the piece so fresh, their slip-ups soon turned into new ideas. Viktor even missed a few cues, much to Yuuri’s shock and Phichit’s delight.

After running over the song for the better part of an hour, Yuuri could hear that something was still missing. Their own parts sounded amazing – Viktor’s solo in particular, though Yuuri was a little biased. But even once they’d worked in a few “spicy parts” as Phichit had taken to calling them, there was still that essential sense of grandeur lacking. They’d listened to the song over and over, pausing and rewinding little pieces, trying to come at it from a different angle or change the tempo slightly.

Phichit suddenly stopped them a few bars before Viktor’s solo, letting his sax fall and grabbing their attention with a whistle.

“Bass and drums,” he said levelly once they’d stopped playing, rubbing his chin as he thought. “That’s what we need.”

Viktor nodded solemnly. “You’re both playing wonderfully, but we’re missing that classic Muse sound.” He suddenly flicked out his phone, tapping it for a moment and then pressing it to his ear.

“Hello? Yeah, what are you up to right now?” Viktor started pacing the room, Yuuri and Phichit watching as he spoke with someone animatedly. He seemed to be trying to convince whoever it was to come and drum for them.

“Yeah, it’s a Muse song. Yeah, exactly. Piano, Sax, and me singing. Uh huh. Oh…” Viktor suddenly looked very thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of that. Good idea. Okay, I’ll see you soon,” and he tapped his phone again, hanging up.

“I’ve got a friend who’s an excellent drummer,” he explained, giving Yuuri a small smile. “He’s actually already in the Institute Band, but he said he’d be happy to help us. And I might…” Viktor turned his attention to his phone again. “I might have an idea for a bassist…”

Viktor seemed to be sending a text instead of calling, turning back to them after a moment with a smile. “He said he’ll come! Though, apparently, I owe him now,” he shrugged, tossing his phone back onto his coat and moving back near the piano, flicking through his music that he’d set up on a stand. Yuuri wondered distantly what kind of people he’d found – if they were Viktor’s friends, they were sure to be professionals. Yuuri wasn’t too sure how he felt about having _more_ people in the room…

“We might have to meet them at a different studio though. We’ll need a kit,” Viktor said slowly, putting his finger up to his lips again in that same gesture that entranced Yuuri so thoroughly. Part of him wanted Viktor to stop since whenever he did it, all Yuuri could think of was how soft Viktor’s lips looked and it was ridiculously distracting…

Another secret part of him wanted to watch him do it forever.

“When are they coming?” Phichit asked casually, blowing into his sax and cleaning it out, spit splashing onto the floor. Yuuri winced. As much as he loved the sound of woodwind, he was glad he’d chosen an instrument that was a little bit nicer to clean and didn’t involve any body fluids.

“Next 20 minutes or so I’d imagine,” Viktor said slowly, finger still on his lip. “Let’s take a break maybe? I’ll sort us a studio,” and his phone was out again, fingers dancing across the screen. Yuuri swallowed.

“A-Are you sure it’s ok? Won’t you have to pay…?” his voice was small. Something about the thought of suddenly changing all their plans and meeting two new people had him on edge. Viktor turned and flashed him a brilliant smile.

“It’s no trouble,” he said, swiping his thumb across the phone screen and placing it back in his pocket. “Yakov owes me anyway.”

Yuuri blanched. Yakov _owed_ him. _The_ Yakov? After the last hour of easy banter between the three of them, it suddenly came rushing back to Yuuri that Viktor was pretty much a celebrity. The concept of Yakov owing anyone anything might seem strange to normies like him and Phichit, but he supposed for Viktor, it was probably normal. Probably normal for them to go and get coffee, too. Like old buddies.

It was suddenly quite difficult to breathe.

Phichit let out a low whistle. “What I wouldn’t give to have _the_ Yakov Feltsman owe me a favour,” he said with a laugh, moving to pack up his gear. “Must be nice.”

Viktor laughed at that, glancing at Yuuri with a strange expression that was gone as quickly as it had come. Yuuri frowned.

“It’s okay,” he answered. “He’s actually a total softie, once you get to know him,” and Viktor said it so casually that Yuuri just about choked on his own tongue.

Phichit let out a strangled noise before doubling over in laughter. “Oh, God, that’s an image,” he wiped at his eyes. “What, is he like … a bear? But a Yogi Bear?” he snorted and Yuuri tried to cover up his own little giggle at the image.

“Oh, Yakov’s a twink, for sure,” Viktor said, face serious, moving to pack up his own gear as if he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous sentence known to man. Phichit and Yuuri both froze, glancing to each other, then back to Viktor.

“Didn’t you guys know?” Viktor said again, glancing up at them. But Yuuri could see a tell-tale smirk twitching on his lips, and suddenly all three of them were laughing like school kids, Yuuri having to wipe at the tears suddenly forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my God, please, don’t make us imagine it,” Phichit was gasping for air, rolling around on one of the chairs. Viktor seemed pleased with himself, turning to Yuuri with a dazzling grin. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Viktor grabbed it quickly, smiling and giving the two of them a thumbs up.

“The favour’s been cashed in, we’ve got a studio,” Viktor said gleefully. “Let’s go, Yuri’s on his way now.”

Yuuri frowned. “I’m right here…” he said softly. Viktor glanced back at him.

“Oh, no, the _other_ Yuri,” he explained.

“The worse one,” he added with a wink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES, so this was actually SO much longer than I'd anticipated. And I had even planned to add a whole other scene, but it's already stupid long~ Next time~
> 
> Also, I was thinking about it, and so many fics have Viktor texting with kaomoji and it just makes me so happy that everyone kind of unanimously agrees that that's how it would go. Especially since Viktor can put the little hearts for mouths and it's just *wheeze* adorable. And I figured Yuuri is the kind of guy who never keeps up to date with things, and even though he's Japanese - since he's from a more rural Japanese town and never texts - he probably missed the whole kaomoji thing entirely. And Phichit would probably just use stickers I think... I don't know. HC thoughts~
> 
> There's a bunch of music in this one so I'll just list it all off in order of appearance:
> 
> [ Lazy Bird ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAsUNTHRjaM), the piece that Phichit suggests, is a famous modern Jazz piece by John Coltrane. It's pretty brutal, but also just so, so amazing. I can see Yuuri playing it somehow~ And it makes me so happy~
> 
> The [ Ravel ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BqQF7axoEHg) piece that Yuuri plays at the start of their practice is just *wheeze* stupidly beautiful. Again, it just screams Yuuri to me. I could listen to it for hours~
> 
> And finally, this [ Muse ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZQoqM7l-vlQ) song is one of my all time favourites. Such a cool, creative concept, and with three exceptionally talented musicians (or five, WHEN THE REST OF THE SQUAD SHOW UP) I can hear it in my mind palace already. SO COOL. GOOD GOD.
> 
> ALSO *SPLUTTERS* THANK YOU. For your stupidly kind comments and kudos and all the things. I've been basically vibrating with happiness and motivation for the last few days~ It really does encourage me in every way. And I like to reply to every comment, so feel free to ask questions, though the NZ time zone might make it a bit weird~ Anyway! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> I'm going to jump straight into the next chapter, but it probably won't be done until this time tomorrow~ Bear with me~
> 
> Much awkward, muso love,
> 
> \- Min


	4. Making Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw for anxiety and a panic attack

To say that Yuuri was nervous was an understatement.

The new drummer – Otabek, Yuuri soon learned – was stoic in the extreme. He seemed to only have one facial expression and responded with clipped sentences and one-word answers that left Yuuri feeling desperately anxious. If it weren’t for Phichit and Viktor’s cheery dismissal of his otherwise cold personality, Yuuri was certain he would have had a nervous breakdown by now.

He still couldn’t tell if the drummer was even _willing_ to practice with them. When Yuuri had managed to stammer out a “Thank you for drumming for us!” the other man had simply replied; “Sure,” looking him directly in the eyes with absolutely zero emotion and setting Yuuri’s teeth on edge.

And whirling in the back of Yuuri’s mind was the constant reminder that this man was Viktor’s _friend._

Viktor seemed to navigate Otabek’s apathy with ease – slotting him into their little trio and running him through the work they’d done so far. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice Viktor’s sarcastic remarks or friendly suggestions that flowed as easy as breathing, and even though Otabek hardly responded beyond curt words or steady nods, Yuuri could tell that they were close.

He tried not to think about how tight his chest felt.

Phichit fell into the conversation seamlessly as well, picking up on jokes and nuances, laughing at all the right times. So, it didn’t take long for Yuuri to drift into a familiar silence, letting the others fill in the blanks while he willed himself into invisibility. He was subconsciously crowding himself in at the end of the piano stool, with his bag beside him as a sort of shield. The other three were all hanging off the drum set on the other side of the room, Otabek occasionally tapping the foot pedals as they talked. And talked. And talked.

Yuuri couldn’t keep up. One minute they were discussing their piece, the next sharing stories about performances, before arguing good-naturedly about a genre of music Yuuri hadn’t even heard of before. He’d tried once – _once –_ to slot himself into the conversation, commenting on a joke about time signature. Viktor and Phichit had laughed immediately, Viktor turning to Yuuri the second he made a noise, but Otabek had looked at him with that same indifferent stare. It was enough to sew Yuuri’s lips shut for good.

And, like a pebble dropping into a pond, everything suddenly made sense.

Yuuri knew that he didn’t have to worry about Phichit – they were friends. He could trust him. Otabek was indifferent – probably loathed the fact that he had to help them practice, but he’d do it for Viktor since _they_ were friends.

And Viktor…

The thought that Viktor was probably just being nice to Yuuri flashed through his mind, and it all clicked into place. It weighed so heavy in Yuuri’s chest that it felt like it was going to cave in.

Viktor was just being nice to him…

Viktor pitied him…

The ache only grew worse when the _other_ Yuri showed up.

The door to the studio slammed open, walls shaking ever so slightly in response. Standing in the doorway Yuuri could see a rather short, slender man – probably no older than eighteen - blond hair hanging across his eyes under a black hoodie. He had a guitar case in his hand, the other gripping an amp, arm rolling to shrug the strap of his bag further up one shoulder. As he flicked Yuuri a steely look, Yuuri realised with a shiver that he recognised him.

“What are _you_ looking at?” the man spat, eyes narrowing as he took a step into the room. Yuuri felt all the colour drain from his face, hands shaking ever so slightly above the piano keys in front of him. This was the guy from the café. The one who had glared at him like he was worthless.

It seemed all too obvious to Yuuri that he must have done something to upset him. Yuuri supposed he could add this man to the list of people that thoroughly despised him.

“Settle down, Yuri, that’s not how you make friends,” Viktor called cheerfully from the drums, and Yuuri had to force his heart rate to calm, reminding himself that Viktor was addressing the _other_ Yuri. That was going to get confusing fast.

The younger man seemed to bristle at Viktor’s words, taking his eyes off Yuuri and stomping over to where Viktor was lounging.

“You owe me dinner tonight,” he said bitterly, voice just slightly too loud to be considered calm, jabbing a finger in Viktor’s direction. Yuuri could feel every nerve in his system tighten.

Viktor just laughed.

“Of course, of course,” he was smiling as cheerily as he had been with everyone else, completely ignoring the tension that all but sizzled around Yuri’s entire being. “We’ll go after practice?”

“Whatever,” Yuri threw over his shoulder as he turned. He seemed to notice that Otabek was there, and paused for a second.

“Who’s this guy?” Yuri asked, brow furrowed. Viktor sighed.  
“The drummer, Yuri. Obviously,” and suddenly Viktor was moving towards the piano, eyes flicking to Yuuri’s face and pulling a strange expression. Yuuri swallowed. He was hoping he’d be able to blend into the background a little more now that the room was filling up, but Viktor seemed to have other ideas.

“We’ll have to think of a new nickname, won’t we?” Viktor said softly, effortlessly resting his hand on the piano, leaning down so that he could talk to Yuuri. _Just_ Yuuri. He seemed to be speaking in a lower voice so that the others couldn’t hear him.

All Yuuri could do was desperately gasp for air, the concept of language very distant at that moment.

“His Grandad calls him Yuratchka, but that’s too many syllables,” Viktor continued, smiling like he’d just made a joke. Oh. Because he _had_ made a joke. Yuuri swallowed, trying to remember how to laugh. The noise came out strangled.

Viktor blinked, furrowing his brow. “Yuuri?” he asked quietly. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri could feel the panic setting in, working at the muscles in his throat until they constricted painfully. He knew meeting two new people so suddenly when he was still getting used to being around Viktor would be a lot. But he hadn’t taken into account just how much it ached to see the other man interact with them so effortlessly. And Yuuri knew, from the few moments he’d shared with Viktor, that Viktor was _kind._ Kind enough to take pity and try to make Yuuri feel better. Probably so kind that he’d do it even when he didn’t want to.

He had to show Viktor he was okay. Had to hold his own. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to make new friends. He could do this.

He nodded, hoping he could wrangle his face into something resembling a normal, calm human being that most definitely did _not_ have social anxiety in the slightest.

“Fine,” he managed, voice still quavering, trying to make his throat swallow around the dry lump that had wedged itself there.

Viktor looked like he was about to question him, but Yuri suddenly piped up from over by the drums.

“Are we gonna get this shit started or what?” he asked loudly, leaning over his guitar case and pulling out an electric. It was clearly an expensive model, the fretboard inlaid with something that shimmered in the low light of the studio. Yuuri glanced down as the other man turned towards him, catching a glimpse of what looked like stickers haphazardly strewn along the bass’ front. If he weren’t so high strung, Yuuri might have laughed. Instead, he found himself counting the strings. Watching Yuri’s fingers along them. He was probably exceptionally talented, Yuuri thought distantly. He’d have to be, as Viktor’s friend.

Viktor was still leaning close to him but had turned to say something in response that Yuuri couldn’t quite hear over the rush in his ears. He was close enough that Yuuri could tell just how expensive Viktor’s loose shirt was. There was a logo on the front pocket, and the fabric looked far softer than anything Yuuri owned. Everything in the room was coming into sharp focus as the panic set Yuuri brain alight, the edges of his concentration blurring into nothing, almost like tunnel vision. As Yuuri turned toward his music, the voices around him melded into a droning buzz, while the notes stood out sharp against white paper. He glanced down to the keys, head spinning slightly as his eyes moved quickly, the shine from the lights overhead glistening on the black keys, burning the backs of Yuuri’s eyes.

If he didn’t get out of here soon, he knew everything would fall apart.

He distantly registered that Otabek had started playing, thrumming a few kicks and rolls, testing out the kit. Yuri was hooking up to an amp. Phichit was testing his reed again. Viktor trying some scales, glancing back to Yuuri with a slightly creased brow.

“Ready?”

No. Definitely not. Yuuri was the furthest thing from ready. He could barely keep straight in the piano stool.

He nodded all the same.

On Otabek’s count, they started playing.

It seemed that Otabek and Yuri already knew the piece. Knew it well. Yuuri wasn’t sure why he was surprised. They fell in sync almost immediately, picking up on the new parts, adding their own flair without anyone even asking them or cueing them in. Yuuri’s fingers felt like they were made of metal as he strained to keep up.

They made it through the first half, stopping on Viktor’s cue to arrange something new. Yuuri registered it mechanically, desperate to keep up. To keep his head above water.

They played through it again, Yuuri’s fingers all but frozen as he jammed out the chords, not bothering to add any flourishes or glissandos like he’d planned earlier. It felt like the other studio was a distant memory – like it was a film he’d watched or a story he’d read rather than something that had actually occurred that same day. The sense of the music was barely there for him, completely tuneless as he tried to concentrate on just getting through it. Just making it to the end…

Yuri suddenly stopped playing, glancing at Otabek to signal he wanted to stop. Once there was silence, he shot Yuuri a flinty look.

“Is _this_ the guy who’s auditioning?” he called loudly, glancing away toward Viktor who had his back to the piano. Yuuri couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders seemed to tense at Yuri’s words.

“Play nice,” and Yuuri could hear Viktor’s voice, but it sounded like it was coming at him from another room. He glanced desperately to Phichit, but he was glaring daggers at Yuri instead. Yuuri winced – he could trust Phichit to stick up for him, but it was irrational. Of course Yuri would call him out – his playing was terrible.

“I—It’s okay,” he managed to squeak out, Viktor turning back to him with a worried look. “And no. I’m not,” he said simply, addressing Yuri with a weak smile. Of course he wasn’t auditioning. How could he think he’d even have a chance? It was a stupid idea – he’d been foolish to let Phichit talk him into it. The only reason he’d wanted to was to be close to Viktor…

Pathetic.

There was a strange noise that was probably Phichit trying to argue, but Yuuri was intent on staring at the piano keys, resolute, so he couldn’t quite tell if he was imagining it or not.

Yuri huffed at his hair, glancing away from Viktor awkwardly.

“I mean. You could,” he said off-handedly, looking down at his shoes. “Audition, I mean. You’re just playing so stiff.”

Yuuri tried to quiet his heart which was suddenly hammering right in his ears. He nodded, “Ah, well,” he laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as his chest constricted painfully. “I’m sure there are others who’d be better suited. Classical is where I’ve done all my training,” he could feel the words rolling off his tongue easily, but his brain was screaming at him. Spinning. Overloading.

There was that noise again. And suddenly Phichit was talking. What was he saying? Yuuri couldn’t tell. Because it was here. The panic attack. His heart was so loud he was certain everyone in the room could hear it. His vision blurred with each beat, tongue suddenly filling his whole mouth as it went dry.    

He had to get out of here.

Everyone was talking. Talking loudly. But Viktor was just staring at him, eyes wide and mouth working like he was trying to find something to say. The panic edged closer to the surface as Yuuri realised Viktor was probably beyond embarrassed to have him there. In front of his friends. Messing everything up.

He needed to get out of here. Glancing around Viktor, desperate to avoid his gaze, Yuuri spotted Phichit watching him as he took a sip from a water bottle, Otabek and Yuri still speaking over by the drums. Phichit cocked his head, brow lifting ever so slightly. _You okay?_

Yuuri nodded slowly, chewing on his lower lip, but as he tried to will himself to appear normal, to appear put together, he could feel that lump in his throat burn into something far more painful. His eyes pricked with tears, and he swallowed again. Desperate.

He shook his head slowly.

“Yuuri?” a voice called from far away. Viktor. Viktor was still there. Viktor would see…

“Ah, Yuuri!” Phichit suddenly cried out, standing with his sax still slung over his shoulder, Yuri and Otabek turning to look at him. “I forgot to tell you … the landlord called earlier.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, staring after Phichit wide-eyed and desperate. Was he bailing him out? Phichit seemed to make eyes at him and Yuuri felt his heart surge. He was bailing him out. He was rescuing him.

“Was it important?” he gasped, sweat pricking at his skin, setting it on fire.

“Something about our rent,” Phichit added quickly. “I totally forgot to tell you. We should really get it sorted. Maybe you should call him?” and he was glancing at the door, nudging his head ever so slightly to try and convey the message.

Yuuri stood quickly, stool grating along the floorboards awkwardly as he did so. “Th—Thanks, Phichit,” he all but breathed, feeling everyone’s eyes on him as he started packing away his things. “Sorry guys,” he whispered, and with that he ducked his head, rushing out of the room like his life depended on it

The room was on fire. Melting all around him. The floor was lava and Yuuri’s feet were about to burn through.

He crashed into the hallway, breaking into a full-blown sprint as he made his way towards the safety of the bathrooms.

He hardly heard the sound of the studio door opening again, footsteps racing after him.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Yuuri was well acquainted with bathroom stalls. So well acquainted that, after decades of practice, his public panic attacks had become a well-memorised ritual. Run to the bathroom. Find the furthest stool from the door. Close the toilet seat. Check the lock. Pull out his headphones. Listen to music.

Wait.

The tears had already started well before he’d made it to the bathroom. As he sat on the lid of the toilet with his head in his hands, they flowed mercilessly, twisting his face into something ugly, falling silently down his cheeks and dripping onto the floor.

More than anything, he was angry. Angry at himself. How could he believe, in any possible reality, that Viktor would actually _want_ to practice with him? That Viktor would want to _audition_ with him? That Viktor, or any of his friends, or any of the people at this school, in this _city_ , would think him worthy enough. Talented enough.

It was pathetic.

In that moment, all Yuuri could think of was his mother. He wanted to call her. He had some kind of symphony playing in his ears – he hadn’t even registered turning it on after he’d locked himself in the stall – so he had to pause it, flicking to his recent calls and quickly finding the international number for Yu-topia Katsuki. He checked the time, quickly doing the mental math that he was so used to calculating after years of living away from home.

It would be five in the morning in Hasetsu.

He chewed his lower lip. Was it too early? Was it stupid, calling his mother from a bathroom stall halfway across the world just because he was having a panic attack? He knew his mother wouldn’t mind – it had been a long time since he’d called her, so she’d be thrilled to hear from him. But what if he woke her? What if he couldn’t even speak to her properly through the tears? What if—

“Yuuri?”

A voice. Someone was in the bathroom with him. Yuuri all but dropped his phone as he scrambled to lift his feet off the ground and onto the toilet seat, hiding as best he could. Screwing his eyes shut tight, he hoped beyond hope that whoever it was hadn’t heard him, though the echoing crash of his phone hitting the linoleum floor had probably given him away.

“Yuuri, are you alright?”

And Yuuri knew that voice.

Viktor.

Viktor had followed him.

The panic heightened into a painful crescendo, tears cascading down his face, sobs sticking in his throat, making it burn. He was going to be exposed. He’d lied. Phichit had lied. They’d made up a story. Viktor was going to find out…

He hiccupped a sob, stuffing his hands over his mouth all too late. The sound was already out, echoing through the little bathroom damningly. He could almost hear Viktor’s shock in the silence that followed.

“Yuuri…” he said again, voice soft. Pitying. There were footsteps. A shadow under the door. Yuuri glared up, certain that Viktor was standing just beyond the stall.

“I’m sorry about Yuri,” Viktor said in a small voice, the words oddly unsure. “He’s not very good with people.”

Yuuri would have laughed if he weren’t so focussed on trying not to cry. If only Viktor knew…

“Don’t let him discourage you,” Viktor said suddenly, the door to the stall shaking ever so slightly as something hit it. His hand? Was Viktor trying to get in? Was he angry? Yuuri tucked his legs up higher on the seat.

“Ah, I’m not too good at this sort of thing,” and Viktor’s voice sounded despondent. What did he mean? Did people crying in front of him make him feel uncomfortable? Did it annoy him? The whole scenario set Yuuri’s head into a spin – he _should_ be mad at him. Mad at Phichit, too. They’d lied about the landlord thing. Not to mention the fact that Yuuri had interrupted their practice. Had probably _ruined_ their practice entirely.

Yuuri had to make it right.

“I know some—” his voice cut out as another sob threatened to choke him, and he cleared his throat, begging it to work for him. “I know some good pianists. Jazz ones.”

There was silence on the other side of the door.

“I’m sure they’d be happy to help with your audition,” and his voice was suddenly a whisper. His ribcage felt like it was going to collapse and crush his lungs, the ache in his chest twisting into a painful throb. He clutched at it, doubling over as his eyes blurred with fresh tears.

Because Yuuri _wanted_ to audition. He _wanted_ to practice with Viktor. He craved that sense of home and comfort and _rightness_. Loved that he got along with Phichit so well. Loved that he smiled at Yuuri so easily. Loved…

But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be, no matter how much Phichit tried to convince him otherwise. Compared to people like Yuri or Otabek, he was nothing. Just another classical pianist to add to the pile. Not to mention the fact that there were far superior pianists out there. _Far_ superior. New ones were filing into SIM every day.

He was replaceable.

Viktor spoke softly from beyond the door; “Yuuri, what do you—”

“I can arrange it all. Please, don’t worry,” Yuuri cut him off, sure that Viktor was going to complain about having to find a new pianist himself. Yuuri could list off at least four jazz pianists who’d be more than happy to help, some of which were already thinking of auditioning for the Institute Band.

Desperate to right his wrongs, Yuuri flicked through his contacts again to find Kenjirou’s number. Yuuri knew the younger student well from various tutorials and recitals. He’d be the perfect fit.

“Yuuri, please,” the voice on the other side sounded desperate. Strained. Yuuri filtered the sound through his mind, deciding that Viktor must be angry in some way.

“I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time already,” and Yuuri found he was choking out a nervous laugh, even as the tears ran down his cheeks and hung on his chin. He only hoped it was convincing enough. Hoped Viktor wouldn’t be too mad with him afterwards.

“You’re…” Viktor’s voice sounded small, and Yuuri watched as the shadows at the base of the door shuffled slightly. “You’re sure you don’t want to audition?”

“Absolutely,” and Yuuri coughed out another laugh, desperate to convince the man beyond the door. Desperate to convince him he was normal. Put together. Sane…

Because the tears were still flowing and Yuuri wasn’t sure when they’d stop.

The silence felt suffocating.

Yuuri was about to say something when he heard the sound of Viktor clearing his throat. “If you’re sure,” came the curt reply, and suddenly the shadows were moving, heeled shoes tapping on the floor as Viktor left. Yuuri winced slightly as the main door slammed, echoing painfully through the bathroom.

Threading his hands into his hair, Yuuri curled in on himself, letting the sobs wrack him completely. Viktor was mad. Viktor hated him.

Yuuri was just glad he’d put a stop to things before they’d gotten out of control.

  
*                       *                       *

 

Safe in his usual pyjamas, Phichit was curled up in his bed with a laptop balancing on his knee, can of beer in hand, eyes flicking across the screen in concentration.

It had taken a good hour of convincing to get Yuuri to even leave the bathroom stall, let alone come home with him. He’d expected as much. This was hardly Phichit’s first Yuuri Katsuki rodeo. Their friendship had begun in a bathroom stall, after all. Yuuri mid panic attack, Phichit drunk out of his mind. He smiled at the memory. He let himself reminisce for a moment, before scrambling back to concentrating on the video editing software in front of him.

Phichit often edited videos in his spare time – mainly memes, though he occasionally did more professional videos for various friends and musicians. One of his videos was even used at the last SIM showcase. But somehow, despite the experience – despite all the perfectly edited memes that had earnt him relative social media fame - editing _this_ video was proving rather difficult.

Part of it was due to the fact that he felt so guilty, especially after Yuuri’s breakdown today. They’d spoken a little, once Phichit had managed to coax Yuuri out with the promise of katsudon at their favourite Japanese place. On him. He winced. Payday couldn’t come soon enough – after forking out for a collector’s edition of a game he’d been obsessed with, Phichit could hardly afford to shout Yuuri a roll of sushi let alone an extra-large katsudon. But he managed to shrug off the concern – it was for a good cause after all.

Yuuri had spoken about his thoughts when they were on the bus home, though Phichit hadn’t managed to get through to him like he usually could. He just wouldn’t believe him. He was convinced Viktor didn’t want to audition with him, caught up in the whirlwind of self-doubt and fear. Despite the fact, Phichit noted to himself as he took another sip of beer - that Viktor had gone to such lengths to make it happen. Had bent over backwards to accommodate their practice, roping in none other than Otabek Altin, drummer extraordinaire, and Yuri Plisetsky, punk rock god and Viktor’s own cousin. Had spent the other night texting Phichit desperately after Phichit had ninja’d his number from Yuuri’s phone, asking about Yuuri’s favourite songs. His favourite bands. His favourite _colour_ for God’s sake.

He took another swig of his beer, reaching for his phone and glancing at the lock screen with a mental wince. It was full of texts from Viktor, of course. Lots of question marks. Lots of desperate kaomoji.

He wondered if Yuuri’s phone was full of texts too. The idiot wouldn’t reply, of course. And Viktor was too much of a ditz to say the right thing. Though something about Viktor’s face after he’d returned from the bathroom told Phichit he wouldn’t have sent anything. He’d chewed the other Yuri out when he returned to the studio, blaming the whole thing on him. Phichit had to give a lacklustre explanation to everyone as well. Yuuri’s dog had passed away a few months ago. He was homesick. Nervous around new people. But to Viktor, Yuuri could do no wrong, so the other Yuri had gotten an earful. Phichit giggled around another mouthful of beer. He had to admit it was satisfying to see the somewhat famous guitarist on the receiving end of a lecture.

Phichit glanced back to the computer screen. He still had a lot of work to do. There was a whole bunch of footage of them practicing the Muse song that he didn’t want to include, a bunch at the beginning while he’d been setting up the camera. But in the middle was a Yuuri Katsuki Chopin _feast_ and he’d be damned if he didn’t do it justice.

He thanked his past self for deciding to do this – thanked Minako for suggesting it in the first place. He’d always have faith in Yuuri, but he knew the guy too well to believe he’d audition just like that. Something was bound to send him running, not to mention he was already stressed to the nines about the whole Lilia-being-his-supervisor thing.

Phichit hated himself for sneaking around like this – hated that he was being so underhand with his best friend. But at the same time, he knew it was the right thing to do in a roundabout way. Even from the raw footage, anyone could tell that Yuuri was one of the best pianists at SIM. Probably on his way to being top in the city.

Phichit fast-forwarded to where his rendition of the Ravel piece began, watching Yuuri bend and sway with the music, completely enraptured.

 _This_ was the Yuuri he knew well. The Yuuri that hid behind all the tears and self-doubt. The Yuuri he knew Viktor could see as clear as day.

And if he had to sneak a recording of him to Yakov to prove it to him, then that was exactly what Phichit was going to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, sometimes I catch myself writing about Yuuri and I see him get hurt and it's like "WH O HAS HA R MED MY BA BY??" and then I realise. Oh. It me.
> 
> I couldn't stop listening to [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ObBRh2aezOY) while I was writing, it just fit somehow. Poor Yuuri. I can genuinely feel myself breaking my own heart WOOOO
> 
> But it's okay, there's some good shit on its way. The Viktuuri train is pulling into the station and ho boy is there some juicy stuff comin ("eventual smut" tag, I'm lookin at you, baby).
> 
> Also I've decided to set up a [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/scribblingmin) that's pure YOI garbage. If anyone has any questions/ prompts/ just wants to fuckin yeet into my dms, then feel free to visit me there. 
> 
> And, as always, the kudos and comments leave me breathless. This fandom is fast becoming one of my favourites and you guys are far too kind <3 
> 
> Much waiting-for-ICE-Adolescence-like-a-gremlin love,
> 
> \- Min


	5. On the List

Shortly after the practice session, Yuuri had completely thrown himself into his study. His anxiety was nothing new - after however many years of bathroom stalls and car parks and stage wings soaked in fear, the panic attacks were like old friends. And every time they rolled through him, passing through like a tornado and leaving him weak, his first thought was always _music_. 

At least he had his _music_.

As a child, Yuuri had been blessed with plenty of time to practice. His life was easy-going in Hasetsu - school was simple, friends were simple, home was simple. If anything threw him into an anxious spin, nobody paid any mind when he would slip away quietly to his room, or sprint to Minako’s then studio to use her grand. It was a sort of therapy, he’d decided. There were probably better ways for him to find relief - ways that didn’t border on obsession - but he reasoned that if it worked, if it wasn’t hurting anyone else, then how bad could it be? 

When he’d practice to calm himself, it didn’t matter what he played, so long as his fingers were moving along the keys. Sometimes it was Liszt. Sometimes Chopin. Sometimes jazz or simple accompaniment pieces. He even had a small folder of pop songs and film scores that slipped into his rotation every now and then. Phichit always loved listening to Yuuri play pieces from _The King and the Skater –_ his ‘absolute favourite movie of all time, no exceptions’- though that usually only happened when they were drinking at home, Phichit screeching along at the top of his lungs while Yuuri stumbled his way through the chords. 

Now that Yuuri was focussed on his thesis and composition, he had plenty to fill up his practice time. And so, after the disastrous practice session, blinded slightly by tears and desperate to get his hands on his keyboard, bitterly afraid of running into Viktor, he’d come home with Phichit and all but chained himself to his piano. Had run over the notes from his last session with Lilia. Practiced scales and glissandos and tremolos until his nails dug into his skin. Written pages after pages of ideas - notes erased and moved like chess pieces across the bars. Ideas scrawled in fine pencil in the margins - sometimes in English, sometimes in Japanese.

Very soon, as the days drifted past, the events of that practice session - and with it, the painful thoughts of Viktor - drowned into quiet at the back of his mind. Phichit was kind enough not to bring it up, though he was quite busy with his own practice and some latest video project he’d been commissioned to do.

Sometimes the thoughts would resurface - particularly if Yuuri spotted a flash of silver hair across the quad, or heard someone say _his_ name in passing - but all in all, Yuuri felt he was slowly putting the whole thing behind him.

It had been a relatively productive week by the time Yuuri’s next session with Lilia rolled around. He was still slightly nervous - certain that she’d be just as cold and ruthless as their first meeting - but the edge was taken off ever so slightly since he knew, now, what to expect. He almost felt comforted, knowing with certainty that he was going to be chewed up and spat out by the diva. Kind of fitting. 

He deserved it, after all.

Because that was the one constant as his mind reeled. As he tried to make sense of the strange events surrounding Viktor. As he tried to reason and brute force his way through all his emotions with some sort of logic.

He wasn’t good enough for him. Wasn’t good enough for The Institute Band. Wasn’t good enough to even be here at _SIM…_

“Do I have your _complete_ attention, Mr. Katsuki?” A voice cut across his thoughts.

“Oh! Yes, Madame Baranovskaya. Of course,” he quickly straightened in the piano stool, Lilia was a constant presence behind him as she scanned his movements. He’d drifted off while playing again – working his way through the first movement of his composition piece to try and show her what he’d been working on.

“I admire your appreciation of the musicality of your piece, Mr. Katsuki, but we’re strictly working on tempo today,” she said coolly, eyes flashing as she looked down at him. Yuuri’s heart sank ever so slightly – if only he could keep his mind in check for _one second_ perhaps he’d be worthy of Lilia’s time. But, of course, who was he kidding? He hardly had any right to be here, under her supervision, let alone at this _school…_

“And I do believe,” she said in an oddly soft tone, “This piece was originally intended to be played in a major key, correct?”

Yuuri blinked, furrowing his brow. Had he been playing in a minor key? He could hardly remember…

“Yes, of course” he dipped his head in embarrassment.

“Celestino did warn me about your tendency to get lost in the music,” she continued, pursing her lips as she appraised him. Her gaze never failed to set his teeth on edge. Like he was on display, completely exposed and slowly being picked apart. He swallowed as the silence dragged on, bracing himself for the inevitable reprimand.

“You can use that to your advantage, if you have someone skilled enough to record your playing,” and her voice was rather quiet. Almost as if she were speaking to herself. “You have a unique way of phrasing that would do you wonders if you were actually paying attention.”

Yuuri tried to hide the blush he could feel warming his ears at her words. Was it …meant to be some kind of compliment? He’d never heard someone speak that way about his playing before.

“I’ll see what I can do,” and her voice was back to its usual strict tone. “For now, Mr. Katsuki. _Tempo_.”

Their session lasted most of the afternoon, the sun dipping low as they came to a close after hours of metronome instructed exercises and Lilia’s constant reprimands and observations. It felt like Yuuri had run a mental marathon by the time she called the session to a close.

But it was a good feeling, in its own way. He knew he’d hardly have the mental energy to worry about running into Viktor on his way to the bus. To worry about what Lilia really thought of him as a student. It was like a kind of mental static – too exhausted to even bring up coherent thoughts as he slowly packed his sheet music and notes away.

Lilia offered him a few pointers for his practice at home, giving strict instructions for their next session. He bid her farewell and made his way to the door, only to be stopped by the sound of her clearing her throat.

“And, Mr. Katsuki,” she called after him. He turned back toward her and took in her severe silhouette as she stood by the grand, expression unreadable.

“Congratulations,” she said, mouth a hard line, though her eyes seemed … uncharacteristically warm.

Yuuri blinked.

“Congratulations?” he asked quietly.

Congratulations for what?

“Try not to celebrate _too much_ this weekend,” and Yuuri all but choked as he watched Lilia … smile? It was thin, hardly reaching her eyes, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Celebrate?

What on earth—

Yuuri didn’t get the chance to question her, however, as her phone suddenly rang loudly, filling the room with a strange ringtone. Some kind of high staccato singing. She picked it up quickly and waved for him to leave, greeting whoever had called in a stoic manner.

Yuuri hurried out of the room. The whole meeting was quite strange – stranger than his first meeting that still gave him chills when he remembered how cold Lilia had been with him. Despite how exhausted he felt, he couldn’t help but gnaw on the thought in his mind;

Why had she congratulated him?

He was still worrying away at the question when he rounded the corner and came into one of the common areas. It was a large, spacious room with high ceilings – couches and coffee tables huddled in one corner with tables and chairs filling what remained. There were large expanses of wall space taken up by posters and flyers of every kind. It was the main common area at the school – the one where all of the latest news and postings always ended up. Things like simple advertisements for local concerts or gigs that students were involved in. Flyers looking for roommates or accompanists.

But there was also one wall dedicated to official postings. It was a dividing wall that cut through the room, and it was often crowded at this time of year.

Today it was positively _crammed_ with students.

The noise was overwhelming, Yuuri finding himself flinching ever so slightly as he realised how many people he’d have to pass just to get to the exit. There was shouting and screaming, what sounded like someone practicing scales on a clarinet. There was laughter, and as the crowd came into view, Yuuri could see countless people jostling each other for space around the wall.

Yuuri distantly remembered that today was important, though he couldn’t remember why. There must be a posting – parts for the SIM Musical perhaps? Or maybe there’d been new chairs announced for the orchestra?. Yuuri knew none of it would apply to him, however. He hadn’t auditioned in years, preferring to just focus on the orchestra when he needed to. He ducked his head to make sure nobody recognised him, tucking his chin into his scarf and making his way toward the exits.

A familiar voice rang out across the din and he froze in his tracks.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, over here!”

Viktor.

_Viktor’s voice._

His legs turned to water the second the realisation hit him, and he barely had the strength to turn towards the sound. He cursed his high-functioning anxiety for choosing to auto-pilot right at that moment. He wanted nothing more than to pretend he hadn’t heard him and bolt for the doors, but his body seemed to move on its own. Wooden and puppeteered by years of trying to appear normal in social situations. Not to mention the uncomfortable flip his heart did in his chest that took control of his pulse quickly.

He turned to see Viktor standing at the front of the crowd, shouldering his way through and making his way towards him with a beaming grin lighting up his features. It almost hurt to look at. Like staring straight into the sun.

Yuuri figured Viktor must be greeting him out of pity. He could see a few of the school’s best and brightest hanging near where Viktor was standing by the posting wall, so it was unsettling to see Viktor prying himself away from his elite friends, focussed on Yuuri instead. Christophe Giacometti, the school’s top double bassist, stood out instantly, his curly blonde hair all too visible in the sea of browns and blacks. He was one of Viktor’s closest friends, Yuuri knew, and the man seemed to be shouting something after Viktor, though his voice was lost as someone blasted a note on a trombone nearby.

“Congratulations, Yuuri!” Viktor cried, breaking free of the crowd and all but _running_ over to him. The uneasiness of Lilia’s words returned with full force.

Congratulations for _what_?

“V—Viktor,” Yuuri said in a small voice by way of a greeting, though it sounded more like a question, a deep sense of dread beginning to work it’s way into his chest. He hadn’t spoken with Viktor since their last practice – hadn’t replied to the one text message he’d sent. He hadn’t even _opened_ it, too petrified of what it might entail to even read the opening line. Viktor would surely be offended at Yuuri’s silence. It had been just over a week since their practice, after all.

“I’m so thrilled you decided to audition in the end,” Viktor said breathlessly, rearranging his shirt after being tossed around in the crowd. He stood just slightly too close, eyes bright as he watched Yuuri with all the excitement of a child.

Wait…

_Audition?_

_“_ Wh—what?” Yuuri’s voice came out as a strangled squeak as he felt himself grow pale. _Audition?_ As in—?

But before he could finish the thought, another familiar voice rang out across the room. He turned to see Phichit, red-faced and gasping for air as he all but sprinted toward Yuuri from the doors on the other side of the room, saxophone slung precariously across his shoulder, satchel bouncing against his hip as he ran.

“Yuuri my love!” He all but screamed, crashing into Yuuri with full force, crushing him in a hug. Yuuri barely had time to register Viktor clearing his throat behind him, crying out as Phichit tackled him.

“I’m so sorry! Did you find out already? Shit! I can’t believe I missed it! All that work for nothing,” and around Phichit’s senseless rambling Yuuri managed to gasp a few confused words and worm his way out of the hug.

“Phichit, what on earth is going on—?” but there was another strong grip on his shoulder that froze the words in his throat, Yuuri crying out in shock as he spun around. It was Otabek – _the_ Otabek, from their practice session. And he was standing over him, clapping him on the back, face stoic as he nodded. The man offered a thumbs up, blinking once, not saying a word, before walking past him toward the exit. Yuuri watched him wide-eyed and more confused than ever as Otabek wandered toward a small figure with a guitar slung over his back.

Toward Yuri. _The other_ Yuri. With blonde hair peeking out from a black hoodie, leopard print across its back. The smaller man glanced back to him with piercing eyes, waving at him in a way that seemed almost … friendly?

It was all too much. Why were they all here? Why was Yuri waving at him? Why was Viktor bouncing up and down where he stood, Phichit running his mouth like a stream?

Why was everyone so _excited?_

“Phichit,” Yuuri’s voice was weak, breaking ever so slightly as that same sense of dread bloomed into full-blown fear. “What's going on?”

“Huh?” Phichit glanced at him worriedly, stopping his rambling as he took in Yuuri’s expression, though he still had a ridiculously wide grin plastered on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Why is everyone congratulating me?” Yuuri whispered, eyes darting nervously between his best friend and Viktor as they stood, watching him like he was the only person in the world who didn’t _know…_

“Oh, Yuuri…” Phichit’s eyes grew wide, his feet shuffling as he took a tentative step closer, hand reaching out instinctively. “It’s okay, don’t—“

“What did he mean by _audition,_ Phichit?” Yuuri said distantly, the light from the wide windows flashing off his glasses, eyes hidden.

Phichit swallowed.

“Yuuri, I need you to take deep breaths,” Phichit said slowly, two hands out now. Wary.

“What did you do?” Yuuri all but whispered, feeling his stomach threaten to drop to the floor. Surely not. Surely Phichit would never…

“Well,” Phichit swallowed again, rubbing the back of his neck and throwing Viktor a desperate look. “You know that, ah, project? The video one?”

“You didn’t,” Yuuri breathed, taking a small step backwards as his legs threatened to give way. He could fit the pieces together easily enough. The video project. An audition. All the strange secrecy and vague answers.

“I may or may not have,” and Phichit’s eyes were concerned. Fearful. But there was that typical sparkle of mischief and excitement that – in any other circumstance – would have won Yuuri over.

But this was…

“Wait, what’s going on?” Viktor asked cheerily, face slightly confused as he glanced between the two friends. He spoke like someone at ease with slotting himself into conversations, and Yuuri found himself marvelling at the social confidence, despite it all.

“Ah, I’m a terrible friend,” Phichit said with an exasperated smile. “I filmed our practice the other day and sent it to Yakov by way of an audition.”

Yuuri felt like all of the words were coming at him from a great distance – like he’d suddenly slipped into a well, sound and light having trouble reaching his senses. Audition. Practice. Yakov. Film…

“Yuuri please, hear me out,” Phichit said quickly. “I knew you’d never have the balls to audition on your own and now the hard part’s out of the way! You were accepted!”

Yuuri blinked.

“No I wasn’t,” he whispered matter-of-factly, shaking his head ever so slightly. He _couldn’t_ have been accepted, it must have been some kind of mistake.

“But you were, Yuuri!” Viktor said with a dazzling grin, eyes bright as he reached and gripped Yuuri by the shoulders. The touch sent flames licking along Yuuri’s veins, and if it weren’t for Viktor’s strong grip, he knew he would have fallen right then and there.

“Come and see!” and he was suddenly being whisked through the crowd, bodies pressing against him tightly as Viktor reached down to hold his hand, tugging him along after him like a kite, Phichit trailing behind with a steadying hand on his back.

They made their way to the posting wall, faces crammed towards the small piece of paper pinned to the centre of the board.

It read, in a simple non-descript font:

 

**2016 Institute Band Members**

**Saxophones**

**Alto:** Phichit Chulanont

 **Tenor1:** Guang Hong Ji

 **Tenor2:** Leo De La Iglesia

**Trumpets**

**1 st: **Jean-Jaques Leroy

 **2 nd: **Sara Crispino

 **3 rd: **Seung-gil Lee

**Trombones**

**1 st: **Emil Nikola

 **2 nd: **Michele Crispino

**Rhythm**

**Double Bass:** Christophe Giacometti

 **Guitar:** Yuri Plisetsky

 **Percussion:** Otabek Altin

 **Piano:** Yuuri Katsuki

 

**Vocalists**

Viktor Nikiforov

Mila Babicheva

 

 

**Practice this Thursday, March 16 th, 6pm sharp**

**\- Yakov Feltsman**

 

Yuuri felt the ground fall away beneath him.

“Yuuri? Yuuri!” Phichit managed to catch him as he fell, holding his shoulders firmly and giving them a slight shake.

Yuuri distantly registered that Viktor was still holding him by the hand…

“It can’t be real,” Yuuri whispered, attempting to steady himself. Yakov had seen him practice – had seen his lack-lustre playing with Viktor and Yuri and Otabek there to outshine him at every turn. Had seen it and …

_Accepted him?_

“I can assure you, it’s real,” Viktor said with a smile, and as Phichit helped Yuuri stay on his feet, Yuuri noticed that Viktor was smiling at him warmly. But his eyes were … troubled? He seemed to be searching Yuuri’s face, trying to figure something out…

“I’m … sorry,” Yuuri managed to squeeze out, heart clenching painfully as he realise that Vikor was probably disappointed. Probably angry that Yuuri had run him around. “I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble…”

And Viktor’s face fell into a mask of confusion, brows knitting together as those piercing blue eyes continued to search Yuuri’s face. Despite the raucousness of the room, Yuuri couldn’t help but feel himself getting lost in them. Reminded of their first practice session at Minako’s studio…

And Viktor seemed to be about to say something, eyes fervent as he wet his lips, but a hand on Viktor’s shoulder had him turning around before he could speak.

“Congratulations, everyone!” a lilting voice cut across the crowd. Christophe Giacometti. He was about the same height as Viktor, leaning in to offer a knowing smile to Yuuri and Phichit as he joined their little circle at the front of the crowd, pressed close together.

“It’ll be nice to finally have some … _fresh meat,”_ and Yuuri watched on in horror as Christophe licked his lips, eyes heavy-lidded. He seemed to be directing his flirting towards Phichit, who took it in his stride easily.

“I do hope you’re gentle with me,” and he laughed, light and easy. Of course. It was all so easy for him. For everyone.

Yuuri found himself running down the list again, taking in every name and feeling his heart stutter uncomfortably in his chest when he saw his own name nestled among them. He knew them all – all accomplished musicians. All ridiculously talented. All self-assured and socially confident and…

“Let’s get a drink to celebrate!” Christophe exclaimed, wrapping an arm effortlessly around Viktor’s shoulder.

Oh.

_Oh._

Yuuri took in the gesture and felt a strange twist in his gut.

“Yes!” Phichit jumped on the spot, pumping his fist and letting out another giggle of excitement. Yuuri reached for Phichit’s sleeve, tugging ever so slightly to get his attention. No. Not drinking…

Phichit seemed to notice, chewing on his lower lip and leaning in to try and speak with him in confidence.

“Come on, Yuuri,” Phichit whispered behind his hand, making eyes at him that made Yuuri feel guilty and angry and... “I know you’re freaking out right now but _trust me_. This will do you the world of good,” and before Yuuri could protest, Phichit suddenly creased his brow and gave him a pleading look, eyes darting back to Christophe pointedly, who was now chatting away with a few of the other members who had gathered around them.

Yuuri took the hint. Phichit had had a crush on Chris for as long as Yuuri had had a crush on Viktor. Of course, Phichit would want to take up the opportunity to go out drinking with him.

In the whirl of emotions and shock and terror that started to simmer just under Yuuri’s skin, Yuuri found himself helpless when he saw Phichit’s expression. When he turned and saw _Viktor’s_ expression, wrapped in Chris’ arms and gazing after him…

Hopefully?

“Oh do come, Yuuri,” Viktor said gently, eyes warm, mouth set in a soft smile. “At least let me buy you a drink to apologise.”

Yuuri furrowed his brow and moved to speak; “Apologise?” But the words were lost as his voice broke and Chris let loose a loud laugh. There was another tall man with a trumpet case in hand – Jean-Jaques, Yuuri distantly recalled – talking with him. Was he coming too?

Yuuri felt like he was drowning. Everyone wanted to celebrate. All smiles and laughter and loud, _loud, loud._

And between Phichit’s desperate puppy dog eyes and Viktor’s piercing blue stare, Yuuri found himself nodding, though everything screamed at him to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bows profusely* I'm so so sorry it took me this long, and I'm sorry it was a bit of a shorter chapter!
> 
> After finishing Fever I had to literally purge myself and get my mind back into this fic properly. This chapter felt like a bit of a warm up - getting ready to throw myself into the deep end that is the story to come. AND BOY AM I READY to throw myself in. I've never wanted to write something so much in my life.
> 
> AND ITS THANKS TO ALL OF YOU GREMLINS! Thank you so much for all of the support - I actually don't know how to describe how much it encourages me. Knowing there's people out there who actually want to listen to some crazy story I've dreamt up, it makes me want to wake up in the morning. I hope I can do this story justice and give you some half-decent food to keep us all satiated until YOI gets back from the war...
> 
> No music this chapter, but there'll be plenty in the next one! I'm writing it as we speak! 
> 
> I also hope to update this fic on a bit of a stricter schedule - After this weekend I'll be posting a new chapter (sometimes two) every Monday night starting Monday 22nd PST! (Give or take because I'm at the other end of the world and Monday night is actually Tuesday evening for me~) I really want to challenge myself to write this fic as fully as I can, and I don't like keeping people waiting!
> 
> I’m also on a brief hiatus this week to help family through a crisis, but I’ll be on socials etc. so follow there for any info:
> 
> find me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/scribblingmin?lang=en) or [ tumblr ](https://min-minn.tumblr.com) if you have any questions. I also do art when my brain wants a break from writing which I post there, and I've met some great members of the YOI fandom already around my art and writing so I'm always open to making more! (YALL KNOW WHO YOU ARE, YOU SICKENINGLY BEAUTIFUL HUMANS)
> 
> ANYWAY LOTS OF BELATED LOVE,
> 
> \- Min


	6. Along For The Ride

Yuuri found his voice as they were walking to the bus, managing to disentangle himself from the group and pull Phichit back with him.

“Phichit, please,” he gasped, reaching to grab his friend’s hand and squeeze it desperately. “We need to talk.”

Phichit was still starry eyed, gazing after the group in front of them like he’d just won some kind of lottery. But when he saw Yuuri’s face, flushed and fearful, his eyes grew sombre.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry,” and his voice was soft. He reached down to hold Yuuri’s other hand, clasping at them, bringing Yuuri close and slowing them down so they could lag behind the rest of the group.

“I know it was wrong of me,” he said, watching the ground as they walked. “I betrayed your trust and it was really stupid but, come on!” and he waved a hand at the group of students, all laughing and singing and jostling each other as they walked. Christophe and Jean-Jaques and Seung-gil and Mila. Names he’d known for years. Names that belonged in Broadway lights and glossy magazine titles.

And somehow, they were one of them.

The main thought going through his mind, despite it all, was how important this was for Phichit. How hard Phichit had worked to get himself into the Institute Band. The countless hours of practice and preparation. This was his _dream_. It meant everything to him, and Yuuri wanted to fight for it. Wanted to make it a reality and watch his best friend soar.

But for him…

What did _he_ want?

He’d gone along with the original idea because of Phichit. Because Phichit had convinced him that Viktor had wanted him to audition…

Viktor.

As they meandered through the quad, Yuuri caught glimpses of Viktor’s silver hair amongst the crowd. Flashes of his profile, face beaming, smile like the sun…

Try as he might, over the past few weeks, Yuuri just couldn’t get that first practice out of his mind. The way Viktor’s voice had filled every cell in his body and set it alight. The way his own hands had responded, coaxing music from the piano keys like he were penning a new language. A language just for them…

He wanted to speak it again.

“You’re … an asshole,” Yuuri mumbled into his scarf, still watching the crowd and slowly coming to terms with what was really happening. “And this is insane.”

Yet, despite his anger and fear, it was starting to dawn on him. He was in the band. He’d been accepted.

He’d get to perform with _Viktor_ again…

And somehow, even if Viktor was just being kind. Even if he were just taking pity on Yuuri, that was okay. It was okay because it _felt good_.

“But it’s _real_ , Yuuri!” Phichit squealed in response, shifting to grab a hold of Yuuri’s arm by his side as they walked, skipping slightly to catch up as the group came close to the bus stop. “This is really happening!”

“Yeah,” and Yuuri found himself giggling despite himself. It was insane. It wouldn’t last. But maybe, just for now, he could let himself enjoy it.

“I’m still going to kill you, though,” Yuuri said with a laugh, falling into Phichit’s shoulder to knock him off balance.

The two were laughing heartily by the time they reached the bus stop, Phichit still hanging off Yuuri’s arm. As their bus pulled to a stop, Yuuri felt the back of his neck tingle uncomfortably. He turned and saw their group preparing to board, Viktor standing near the back…

Watching him.

The blush was instant and fierce. Viktor’s eyes were disarming – achingly beautiful pools of blue set in a silver frame – and Yuuri couldn’t help the way his body seemed to respond on its own, heart stuttering, knees growing weak. He swallowed, realising he’d probably been laughing a little too loudly, instinctively rubbing the back of his neck.

And he tried not to notice Viktor making his way towards them.

Phichit made a noise at the back of his throat, smirking back at Yuuri as he noticed. “Can’t say no to _that_ , either.”

“Sit next to me, Yuuri!” Viktor suddenly said in a sing-song voice, face breaking into a smile as he took a few steps closer. Yuuri almost stepped back, his throat closing in on itself. Viktor’s voice _should_ be a normal sound, by now. Shouldn’t send thrills through Yuuri’s nerves like he’d just been struck by lightning. Shouldn’t turn his legs to water and close off his throat.

But Viktor was close now and Yuuri couldn’t breathe.

“He’d love to!” Phichit said instead, still tangled on his arm and almost bouncing on the spot with excitement. Yuuri threw him a desperate look, but Phichit only winked.

“I’m going to find that tall, dark, and handsome double bass,” Phichit said, glancing over to where Yuuri could see Christophe boarding the bus. He glanced back and offered a friendly wave to Phichit who all but bounded after him like a puppy. Yuuri could only stare after them as his friend disappeared onto the bus, leaving him alone with Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor, who was still waiting for some kind of reply.

“O—Okay,” Yuuri said lamely, not daring to look Viktor in the eye.

“I have so much I want to ask you,” Viktor said, the smile all too obvious in his voice. “I’m _so_ happy you decided to audition, in the end.”

“Y—Yeah, well,” Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck again, shuffling along next to Viktor as they boarded the bus. “It was all Phichit.”

They paid their fares, flashing their student IDs and making their way onto the bus. The only seats available were at the back, tucked in the corner behind the rest of the group. Yuuri offered a shy wave to a few of the members – Seung-gil, who he was acquainted with from the SIM Orchestra, nodding stoically in response. He could see two younger students – Guang Hong he knew as well, a saxophone major like Phichit, and next to him, another boy who he assumed must be the remaining saxophonist from the case on his lap. They were chattering away as they shared a phone screen, Guang Hong glancing up and smiling as Yuuri passed. He could feel his nerves settle somewhat as he realised that there were at least a few members younger than him – as he realised they weren’t going to try and eat him alive the first chance they got. Maybe he could even make some friends…

“Window or aisle?” Viktor offered as they reached the back of the bus, gesturing to the empty pair of seats. Yuuri swallowed.

“I—I don’t mind,” he whispered, attempting a small smile. Viktor blinked and seemed to be momentarily distracted. Oh. Was that too indecisive? Yuuri chewed on his lower lip as Viktor watched after him intently. Was he having second thoughts? Did he want to sit with Chris instead—?

“Y—You first, then,” Viktor said with a nervous laugh. Nervous? No, it couldn’t be. Yuuri was suddenly reminded of their first practice together – how Viktor had shuffled his feet and stammered his words. He could only put it down to awkwardness. Yes, that had to be it. Yuuri’s complete lack of social skills probably put him off guard. He must be used to people with far more confidence. People who actually knew how to hold conversations and weren’t reduced to a blabbering puddle around his good looks.

Yuuri ducked his head and settled himself in by the window, clutching his satchel in his lap, trying to cover up the obvious holes and tattered material. Viktor sat beside him as the bus began to move and, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice.

As the bus rumbled into gear, Yuuri couldn’t help but glance past Viktor to where Phichit was sitting down next to Christophe, already engaged in animated conversations and laughing loudly. Yuuri smiled as he watched – Phichit was obviously smitten. It warmed his heart to see his friend so happy, and Christophe seemed to enjoy the conversation too. Though Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder what his relationship was with Viktor. Surely they were together, after what Yuuri had seen earlier. The chemistry was palpable, even now, Chris glancing Viktor’s way every now and then…

“—together?” a voice cut across his thoughts, coming at him from a distance. He snapped back in his seat, turning to see Viktor looking at him with his brow creased, eyes bright and searching.

“S—Sorry?” Yuuri asked softly, chiding himself.

“Are you and Phichit together?” Viktor asked again, his mouth a thin line.

Yuuri blinked. “What?” And before he could stop himself, another blush bloomed across his cheeks. “Phichit?” and his voice was all but a squeak.

“Yeah,” Viktor glanced away, a smile across his features that seemed strange somehow. Out of place. “You guys seem close,” and the way Viktor’s voice grew soft did strange things to Yuuri’s heartrate.

“Oh, no!” Yuuri threw his hands up, waving them in front of him to try and get his message across. “No! We’re just friends.”

“Oh!” and Yuuri watched on as that strange smile suddenly broke into an honest grin. He couldn’t quite place the difference – they seemed just as bright and warm and _Viktor_ – and yet…

“That’s good,” Viktor said with a huff, seeming to relax. Yuuri’s mind melted into static as he tried to make sense of it all. Good? Why was it _good_?

“I mean, not good!” Viktor suddenly cried, sitting up in his seat and leaning forward.

“Relationships are good, I mean. Good to have. And Phichit seems like a great guy!” and now it was Viktor’s turn to gesture wildly, hands moving like he’d said something wrong.

Yuuri was sure Viktor was speaking another language.

“H—He is,” Yuuri said quietly, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what, exactly, Viktor was trying to say. His thoughts quickly turned to Christophe, and it all clicked into place. Of course. Viktor was worried about Phichit. Worried about Phichit and Christophe, seated together, laughing together…

“Christophe seems like a great boyfriend,” Yuuri managed to say, glancing towards the pair and offering a small smile. Saying it out loud seemed to help the strange ache he felt in his chest because _of course_ they were together. How could someone like Viktor Nikiforov be _single_?

“Oh, Chris is _very_ single,” Viktor said with a laugh, leaning over and waving at Chris. “Aren’t you _mon cher_?”

Chris glanced up, tilting his head ever so slightly. “I am?”

“Very single,” Viktor said with a wink.

“Oh! Yes,” and Chris smiled, glancing pointedly at Phichit who seemed to melt on queue. Yuuri’s heart leapt into his throat.

Chris was single.

“And… you’re single?” Yuuri blurted out, voice quiet, blushing furiously as he heard the words leave his mouth, glancing up at Viktor through strands of hair that had an annoying habit of falling across his eyes.

Viktor made a strange noise – something between a groan and a whimper. A laugh? What was it? But Yuuri could hardly follow the thought through, because Viktor was looking back at him with such a strange expression on his face that had him holding his breath…

Almost like … excitement.

“Yes!” he said, a little too enthusiastically, flashing a bright smile that made Yuuri feel like he were in the middle of summer rather than bundled up for winter as he was now.

Single.

Viktor was single.

“ _Very_ single!” Chris chimed in from across the aisle, giggling a little like it were some kind of inside joke. “Getting him to the clubs is like pulling teeth.”

“Chris!” Viktor cried, scrambling in his seat. The other man just laughed, Phichit giggling along with him. Even Yuuri had to stifle a laugh that suddenly threatened to bubble out of his throat.

“Ignore him,” Viktor said with a sigh, offering Yuuri a weak smile as he relaxed back into his seat. Yuuri could see the beginnings of a pink flush across Viktor’s cheeks and oh. _Oh._

Viktor was embarrassed?

Yuuri felt like his world was falling off its axel.

He decided to very pointedly keep his gaze straight ahead, far too enraptured by the way the soft colour of Viktor’s cheeks had set his heart racing. The awkwardness of the whole conversation was catching up with him. Why had he even _asked_ that—?

“I’m not actually sure where we’re going,” Viktor said after a beat, one finger on his lips as he suddenly grew pensive. “I’m meant to be deciding, but I hardly go out for dinner…”

Yuuri furrowed his brow. “You don’t?”

Viktor smiled softly at him, “No, I rarely get the chance. Between the NYCO and SIM, my nights are usually booked.” He was staring ahead in a distant way, and Yuuri found himself imagining Viktor, at rehearsals or practicing, coming home late and getting straight into bed. It was an image he couldn’t seem to make peace with – so contrary to what he’d imagined previously. From Viktor’s outgoing nature, Yuuri had always assumed he’d be quite social outside of school.

Perhaps he’d had it wrong all along?

“What about you, Yuuri?” Viktor asked suddenly, eyes growing bright. “Do you know somewhere we could go?”

“M—Me?” Yuuri squeaked, blanching at the suddenness of the question. Viktor was asking _him_?

“I’m not…” he desperately tried to sift through his scrambled mind, trying to remember the last time he’d eaten out.

“T—There is a nice place … near here,” Yuuri managed, fidgeting with the satchel in his lap as he glanced out the window at the city passing by. “ミール it’s called.”

Viktor blinked at him, cocking his head ever so slightly. “Mi…du?”

Yuuri ducked his head to hide the instinctive smile, “Oh, it’s Japanese,” he said softly. “It means ‘Meal,’ but it’s the Japanese way of saying it.”

Viktor was still staring at him, eyes wide. “Midu,” he tried again, and Yuuri felt his heart race dangerously close to some sort of cardiac arrest. The way the syllables rolled off Viktor’s tongue, adorably awkward around his accent… it was enough to make Yuuri weak.

“C--Close enough,” he said with a small chuckle, feeling that same smile tug his lips. Viktor was still staring at him, the blush from earlier still apparent across his cheeks.

“You’re Japanese,” Viktor stated simply.

“Yes,” Yuuri said slowly, attempting to tuck some of his unruly hair behind his ear. “I moved here just under four years ago.”

“Let’s go to Midu then!” Viktor said suddenly, and before Yuuri could stop him, he was jumping up in his seat and calling out across the bus. “JJ! We’re going to Midu!”

Jean-Jaques – who Yuuri realised must be called JJ amongst friends – turned towards them, seated a few rows in front with a phone pressed to his ear. He glanced back toward Viktor with a confused expression, giving him a slow thumbs up before turning back to his call.

“What a relief,” Viktor said with a sigh, sitting back down heavily. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to find us a decent place.”

Yuuri felt a familiar spike of fear in his chest. “A—Are you sure?” Yuuri asked, voice breaking in his panic. “It’s just a local _yakitori_ bar. Nothing special.”

“If it’s a place you go to, Yuuri, I’m sure its great,” and Viktor’s smile was soft. Achingly soft. Yuuri was glad he was sitting down.

“Let’s look at the menu!” Viktor suddenly said with all the excitement of a child, whipping out his phone and opening up the browser in one swift movement. Yuuri leaned in instinctively, catching a whiff of Viktor’s cologne as he drew unknowingly closer to his neck. It was intoxicating, and Yuuri wondered absently that it must be expensive.

“That’s the one,” he said, pointing at the screen as Viktor scrolled through his search. Viktor opened it quickly, fingers pausing over the screen as he took in the restaurant’s website.

“Ah, which one’s the menu button?” Viktor asked as the wall of Japanese loaded under his fingers. Yuuri scanned it and pointed to one of the buttons, but rather than follow his instruction, Viktor just handed his phone over instead, their shoulders brushing together as he leant closer.

Yuuri wasn’t expecting the touch to affect him so thoroughly, but he suddenly found it quite hard to breathe as a strange current of soft electricity shot through his veins.

Around the furious beating of his pulse in his ears, Yuuri managed to grip the phone with two shaky hands, focussing on scrolling through to the menu to keep his mind from unravelling entirely. The smell of Viktor’s cologne was heavy now, and Yuuri could feel the warmth of Viktor’s arm through his sleeve like a furnace. And Yuuri realised, with a strange blooming warmth in his chest, that Viktor didn’t pull away, either. If anything, it felt like he was pressing even closer, though Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was Viktor’s own movements or just the sway of the bus beneath them.

All the same, it sent shivers straight through his chest and directly into his abdomen, and he was sure his blush would be embarrassingly apparent by now from the way his ears were burning,

Luckily, Viktor didn’t seem to notice, more focussed on the screen as Yuuri slowly scrolled through some of the images. He saw a familiar photo of a bowl of katsudon and paused.

“This one’s my favourite,” he said softly, voice weak.

“Will you order it?” Viktor asked, his pitch rising as his eyes sparkled. Without missing a beat, he leant in slightly closer and added, “Could I try some if you do?”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose ever so slightly as he jerked his head in surprise. Viktor wanted to … try some? From his plate? He tried to stay present but felt his mind reel with possibilities. Viktor eating from his plate. Reaching over to take a bite off of Yuuri’s chopsticks…

Viktor’s own eyes grew wide and he suddenly pulled away ever so slightly, the shift snapping Yuuri back to reality.

“Or,” Viktor said slowly, clearing his throat and glancing back down at the screen, the excitement slightly dampened. “Actually, I’ll just get one of my own.”

Yuuri felt all the air leave his lungs.

Where he was teetering on the edge of hopeful before, now he was mired in despair. Because of course. Of course Viktor wouldn’t want to share with him. That would be strange. He probably hated the idea. Had probably said it because he’d forgotten who he was _actually_ talking to…

“Is there anything else you like?” Viktor’s voice, soft and careful, cut across Yuuri’s thoughts. Yuuri realised he was still holding Viktor’s phone, leaning away as he unconsciously tucked his head into his scarf. Without meeting Viktor’s gaze, Yuuri moved to hand the phone back to Viktor, desperately trying to think of how to salvage the awkward social situation.

But instead of take the phone back, Viktor just leant in again, pressing against Yuuri’s shoulder once more as he watched the screen.

“This one?” Viktor asked, gesturing to the next item on the menu; _okonomiyaki_.

“That one’s quite nice, too,” Yuuri found himself answering shyly despite himself. Viktor didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness in Yuuri’s tone, however. Instead, his eyes lit up as he took in the image, casually zooming in, fingers spreading across the screen and Yuuri found he couldn’t help how his eyes followed the movement.

As a pianist, Yuuri was naturally drawn to fingers. Found himself calculating if people could reach a full octave or not. Wondering how they’d hold up performing glissandos…

Now, all Yuuri could think of was what Viktor’s fingers would _feel_ like.

Because even in simple gestures, Viktor’s fingers were mesmerising. Like every touch were important – deserving of some sort of special care. Yuuri had had enough experience with performers to understand they were slightly different to most. Understand how much their profession permeated every aspect of their lives. Yet he realised, with a strange surge of awe and soft surprise, that Viktor  _lived_ his performance. Every gesture, the tone of his voice, the set of his lips, it commanded attention. Spoke of a deep sense of _knowing_. Knowing others were watching him. Self-aware…

As entranced as Yuuri was, the new knowledge suddenly made him feel incredibly distant, somehow. As if the chasm he’d imagined between who Viktor was and who he was had suddenly widened tenfold.

“What is it, exactly?” Viktor asked, brow furrowing, and even _that_ simple expression had Yuuri reeling. It took Yuuri a moment to realise Viktor was referring to the menu.

“I—It’s … a sort of pancake,” he fumbled for his words, earlier thoughts scattering to the back of his mind. “Savoury.”

“Interesting,” Viktor said with a soft smile. “We’ll have to get one of those, too.”

They continued like that for a while, scrolling through the menu, Yuuri explaining the different food and drink softly as Viktor kept track of what he wanted to order. And Yuuri wasn’t too sure how he felt about it. It was almost _too_ easy, the way the conversation flowed and ebbed. Far easier than any conversation he’d had before, despite how hard his heart was trying to tear itself out of his chest. And as they talked, it didn’t take long for Viktor to laugh, though Yuuri couldn’t remember what he’d said to illicit such a response. Such a _melodious, beautiful_ response.

He decided making Viktor laugh was easily the best thing in the world.

And Yuuri found, with a small jolt of surprise, that he was soon laughing too. _Really_ laughing. Gasping for air and snorting because Viktor was still trying to pronounce Japanese words and it was _too much_.

As he wiped tears from the corner of his eyes, Viktor smiling at him in such an attentive way that Yuuri couldn’t help but stare back, Phichit suddenly called out from across the aisle.

“I haven’t heard him laugh like that in _ages_ ,” and Yuuri tore his eyes from Viktor’s to give Phichit a decidedly threatening glare.

“Oh?” Viktor asked next to him, eyes still trained on Yuuri’s face. “Is that so?”

“D—Don’t mind him,” Yuuri shuffled back into his seat, tucking his face into his scarf. He decided the blush across his features was more or less permanent, now, though the instinct to hide it was still very strong.

How he’d survive the rest of the night, he had no clue.

And all too soon, they were rounding a familiar corner, coming to the block where the _yakitori_ bar was. Yuuri reached to press the button that would signal the driver to stop, careful not to touch Viktor as he did so. Viktor was glancing out the window, eyes searching.

“We’re close?” he asked, furrowing his brow at the shops and apartments around them.

“It’s not all that well known,” Yuuri said sheepishly, wondering for the millionth time if he’d made the right choice. “We can still go somewhere else if you’d—”

“No!” Viktor cried suddenly, the fringe of his hair drifting across his eyes as he jerked himself back into his seat, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean—”

And Yuuri felt the laugh simmer in his throat, escaping as a giggle he couldn’t control. He wondered if he’d ever get used to how excitable Viktor was. How charming...

“It’s okay,” Yuuri smiled softly at him, and as all the panic and doubt and sense of inferiority threatened to cloud his thoughts, Yuuri realised it really _had_ been a long time since he’d laughed like this. Smiled like this. Since he’d felt so _at ease_.

And as the bus came to a stop and the group began disembarking, Yuuri found the prospect of a night with Viktor to be all too inviting, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, can I just say, I'm so sorry this took so long. Life has _finally_ settled down, and you can all thank soft Korean dramas for getting me back in the mood to update. I need my boys like I need air. I need their soft little moments. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone for your patience, your support, your general amazingness. I've said it before and I'll say it again, this fandom is magical. _Thank you_.
> 
> WON'T MAKE ANY PROMISES AGAIN BUT, my dream is to update fortnightly. Fingers crossed I can do it. Stay tuned for more disaster-bi-Min. The only promise I _will_ make is that this fic will be completed before I die. Its become my solemn duty.
> 
> Lots of soft-Korean-drama-love,
> 
> \- Min
> 
> Translations:
> 
> ミール - (miiru) - literally "Meal"


	7. Sake

Viktor was having trouble breathing.

He knew it wasn’t the alcohol, despite how it ever so slightly tingled along the tips of his fingers. Loosened his limbs. And it wasn’t the close, crowded space of the little bar, despite how many patrons had shown up over the course of the evening.

It wasn’t his clothes, tight as they felt. Wasn’t the warmth from the low burning fire. The noise or the attention or the sharp, foreign shouts from the bar.

It was—

“—and he _crashed_ into the desk!” Yuuri cried, hands flinging out in front of him, eyes wide and dancing with excitement. “Right in the middle of his lesson, oh my _God_.” And before he could continue, Yuuri was wiping his eyes and _laughing_. Laughing like a child, gasping and giggling and rocking in his chair.

And Viktor was having trouble breathing.

It took a while for Yuuri to realise that Viktor was staring. Staring with his mouth open and his eyes wide. Despite the obvious effects of the alcohol, Yuuri seemed to sober instantly, ducking his head and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear delicately.

“S—Sorry, that was loud,” he said softly.

“No!” Viktor blurted out, shaking himself free of the ridiculously chaotic thoughts careening through his mind. “No, sorry I—” and he attempted a laugh. Instinctively trying to banish the tension.

“I just can’t imagine Ciao Ciao ever _doing that,”_ Viktor said with a small chuckle, feeling himself relax as Yuuri offered him another smile.

_Another smile!_

“And Phichit couldn’t stop laughing, which made it _worse_!” Yuuri said with another sudden giggle. The sound was far more intoxicating than any of the alcohol they’d consumed. Sweeter. A tonic of the best kind.

“I can imagine,” Viktor said easily, leaning his arm on the table and cupping his chin in his hand. Over the course of the night, the band members had slowly loosened as the alcohol flowed freer – stiff, unsure small talk had soon turned to more comfortable storytelling, and in Yuuri’s case, his conversation went from charming to downright _adorable._

As Yuuri took another sip from his sake cup, Viktor couldn’t help but feel lost as he watched him. Every action drew him in – made all the more enchanting by Yuuri’s little smiles and giggles. Viktor found it pleased him to no end that Yuuri was a happy drunk.

At first, Viktor had been unsure – he was ecstatic that Yuuri seemed to be thawing on the trip over. He couldn’t quite understand some of his reactions – the usual ease with which he could win people over seemed to have little effect on Yuuri’s apparent guardedness. And when Phichit had all but _shoved_ Yuuri into the booth next to Viktor once they’d arrived, Yuuri’s startled yelp and cagey demeanour only served to make Viktor all the more anxious.

But despite Phichit’s rough handling of the situation, he seemed to know Yuuri well. Well enough to order a bottle of sake – for which Viktor would be _forever grateful_.

Because after the first cup, all of Viktor’s fears began melting away. Yuuri’s guarded conversation shifted into an unbearably adorable nervousness. Viktor found he couldn’t get enough of the little reactions – the wide eyes and furious blushes. The stammering and fidgeting. Viktor just had to look Yuuri’s way and he was reduced to a blabbering mess.

By the second cup, his nervousness gave way to confidence. A confidence that left Viktor reeling. And when his confidence grew enough to warrant _teasing_ , well. Viktor was completely undone.

By the third, fourth, fifth cup, Yuuri was drawling and _swaying_. Viktor couldn’t help the first little gasp of happy surprise at the touch of Yuuri against him as he swayed where he sat, trying to find his balance and subconsciously leaning on Viktor for support.

It was at about this point in the evening that the stories had started.

And with each telling, Yuuri grew more and more excited. Giggling and laughing like no one was watching. And the more excited he grew, the more he would _touch_.

As Viktor leant on his hand, watching Yuuri’s hazed eyes as he took another sip from his cup, Yuuri suddenly, effortlessly, swayed in towards him. Viktor hardly had time to react before Yuuri all but _leant his head on Viktor’s shoulder_ , drawing himself closer and pressing his body against him like it was nothing in the world.

And Viktor was having _trouble breathing._

Sober as he was – and he was jealous of Yuuri’s apparent light-weight approach to alcohol at this point – Viktor was keenly aware of everything. Keenly aware of the warmth of Yuuri’s body, of the weight of his head against his shoulder. And as Yuuri lay there, Viktor froze when he realised Yuuri wasn’t making any attempts to move.

And if he moved, Viktor was certain he’d scare him away.

And hadn’t _that_ thought been a constant friend the whole evening. Every word, every gesture, Viktor kept tightly controlled. It was no different from his usual social interactions – making sure everything he did and said served to keep the other party at ease.

But in Yuuri’s case, Viktor was worried – _terrified –_ of scaring him away.

A voice cut across Viktor’s thoughts, startling him in a way that had him chewing on his lower lip. He glanced across the table, forcing himself not to instinctively move to avoid jostling Yuuri form his _oh so perfect_ position. He saw that Chris had piped up from the other side of the table, well into his own drinking and deep in excitable conversation with Phichit.

“Don’t let him fall asleep, Viktor, the night’s still young,” he said with a conspiratorial wink, eyeing the position they were in while Phichit all but squealed next to him.

“Isn’t he just _adorable_ when he’s wasted?” Phichit laughed, Yuuri shifting ever so slightly against Viktor’s side, though, much to Viktor’s relief, he kept his head where it was.

“ _You’re_ adorable,” Yuuri drawled, narrowing his eyes as if he’d just spoken a vicious insult. Phichit giggled again.

“I know, Yuuri, I know,” he waved a hand at the compliment, posing next to Chris in a way that showed he truly _did_ know it. And he knew Chris was watching him, glancing out of the corner of his eye with a sultry smirk.

“Shall we order another round?” Chris asked in a low voice.

“Yes!” Yuuri cried, suddenly sitting upright as he grew more excited. The space on Viktor’s shoulder suddenly felt much too cold.

“Though,” Yuuri said with a pointed glare at Phichit, “ _I’m_ ordering this time.”

Viktor swallowed, ignoring the ridiculously charming way Yuuri tried to sound authoritative despite the slur of his words around the alcohol. He hummed a quiet laugh and smiled at him, “Have something in mind?” he asked gently.

“The best thing about this bar,” Yuuri said, turning back to him and leaning in close, eyes wide and all but sparkling in the low light, “Is the sake. The _real_ sake,” and before Viktor could question him, Yuuri was suddenly leaning over the back of his seat, clambering in his drunkenness, calling out across the bar loudly in a string of Japanese that could only be more enchanting if Viktor actually understood what he was saying.

He made a mental note that he’d have to learn Japanese. And _soon._

“Wait till you try _this,”_ Yuuri gasped as he turned back, landing bodily back in his seat and all but bouncing with excitement. “Last time I had it was in Hasetsu.”

“Hasetsu?” Viktor asked, leaning back in his chair and _very consciously_ draping his arm across the back of Yuuri’s seat. Excitable as he was, Yuuri didn’t seem to notice, though Viktor could hear sniggers from Chris and Phichit across the table, shooting them a warning glance and narrowing his eyes as Chris threw up his hands with a wide grin.

“My hometown,” Yuuri said lazily, ignorant of Phichit’s delighted noises and Viktor’s not-so-subtle attempts at closing the space between them.

Or, at least Viktor _thought._

Because, without warning, Yuuri was leaning back in his chair, brushing soft strands of his hair over Viktor’s arm. Viktor tried _very hard_ to keep his expression neutral, electricity shooting through every vein at the _softness_ he could feel with his fingers.

And Yuuri seemed to be staring into the distance wistfully, still content to remain close. Still not scared away.

He let out a long, drawn-out sigh as he spoke. “It’s far away.”  
Viktor chuckled softly, very conscious of the twitch of his fingers against Yuuri’s hair. “I figured,” he managed, keeping his voice even. “It’s in Japan, after all.”

Yuuri shot him a glance, Viktor stifling a laugh as he revelled in the pout Yuuri threw his way in response.

Yuuri seemed about to respond, but the sound of the waiter’s voice stopped him in his tracks. The pout instantly turned to wide eyed elation as he eyed the ceramic bottle and two small cups perched on the tray in the waiter’s hand. Viktor absently noted that the design was slightly different to what they had been using previously. They appeared handmade, and, much to Viktor’s surprise, a thin curl of steam was rising from the bottle.

“やった!” Yuuri cried, lifting his head off the back of his seat as the waiter set the drink down on the table in front of them. With a strange surge in his chest, Viktor noticed that the waiter handed the second cup to him, whilst Yuuri held the other to his chest in two hands.

He took it gingerly, watching Yuuri curiously. A glance to Phichit told him he wasn’t expecting to receive the cup himself, still nursing a tall glass of beer which he clinked against Chris’ new glass of wine.

But Viktor couldn’t quite wrap his head around the thought that Yuuri had ordered a bottle for them to _share._

Oblivious to Viktor’s confusion, Yuuri leant forward towards the small bottle on the table. As he did so, he inhaled deeply just above its opening, closing his eyes and curving his lips into a blissful smile.

“美味しい,” he said in a soft voice, and Viktor tried his best to keep himself composed.

It took him a moment to realise that there was a silence forming, and as he stared after Yuuri, he noticed that he seemed to be … waiting for something.

And sure enough, when Yuuri turned toward him, his expression was expectant, cheeks flushed from alcohol and excitement, eyes searching.

“Is this … for me?” Viktor asked slowly, gesturing with the cup still in his hand. Yuuri seemed confused, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, but _you_ have to pour first,” and Yuuri’s voice was almost demanding. Like Viktor had missed something important.

“Alright,” he said as he leant towards the bottle, admiring the pretty, seemingly hand-painted pattern that decorated the uneven surface of the bottle. He took it in his hand gingerly, bringing it toward his cup and getting ready to pour.

“No!” Yuuri cried, reaching out and fumbling to grab at Viktor’s wrist. Before Viktor could react, Yuuri had dragged Viktor’s hand to hover over Yuuri’s own cup, brow furrowed all the more as he tried to concentrate around his drunkenness.

“ _Mine_ first,” and his voice was so petulant he almost sounded like a child. Viktor couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped him at Yuuri’s determination.

“Yours first,” he assented, wondering distantly if this were a kind of custom, or just Yuuri’s backwards, drunken way of teasing him.

Viktor found he didn’t mind, either way.

Because he was still caught up on the fact that Yuuri had ordered _two cups_. Two cups _for them_.

Trying to keep his heart at least a _little_ steady, Viktor poured the sake for him, watching as Yuuri took another deep inhale. That same, small, blissful smile spread across his features, and when Viktor was done, Yuuri relaxed his grip, shifting to take the bottle from his hand and letting his fingers linger _just so_ along the skin of Viktor’s arm. Viktor’s heart – which had already been racing as a result of Yuuri’s easy touches before – now surged into a full-blown sprint.

But before Viktor could even try to speak, Yuuri pulled his hand away.

 “ _Now_ yours,” and Yuuri’s voice was almost condescending, his eyes watching Viktor warily in a way that had Viktor laughing, Yuuri’s sudden, drunken seriousness too delightful to ignore for long.

But Viktor soon fell into seriousness himself, Yuuri’s movements serving to distract him, capturing his attention completely.

He appeared to be concentrating furiously as he took both of his hands and held the bottle, fingertips at the edges, grip delicate and careful. It looked like a kind of performance, Yuuri keeping his neck straight and angling the bottle gently, one hand at its base, the other at the neck. Time almost seemed to slow as the clear liquid fell and swirled into Viktor’s cup, filling carefully all the way to the brim as Yuuri effortlessly lifted the bottle and placed it back on the table. As he watched, Viktor found he suddenly couldn’t keep his eyes off Yuuri’s hands. Yuuri’s _soft, delicate, careful hands…_

“乾杯,” Yuuri’s voice managing to make its way to him despite how distracted he was, Yuuri taking his own cup in his hand, raising it in the air with a grin. Viktor has to _will_ himself back down to earth, attempting to make sense of the strange words, though it seemed like a sort of toast. So he raised his cup in kind, Yuuri taking a small, mesmerising sip as his eyes drifted closed.

“ _This_ is real sake,” he said with a wistful sigh, cheeks growing all the more flushed. Viktor took a tentative sip along with him, slightly surprised by the warmth as it swilled in his mouth. He could feel it working its way through his system already, something about the lightness and the warmth sifting through his veins effortlessly. The slightly floral taste, combined with Yuuri’s obvious pleasure and blissful smile, was enough to send Viktor’s head into a spin.

“вкусно,” he said softly, offering Yuuri a small smile as he attempted to snake his arm back along the top of Yuuri’s seat. His smile was short lived, however, when he realised that Yuuri _was downing the entire cup_ , finishing it with a gasp and slamming it down on the table dramatically.

“Ah…!” and as Yuuri exhaled, eyes closed, he leant back against the chair, hair brushing against Viktor’s hand once more. And as the flush across Yuuri’s cheeks began to dust the tips of his ears, Viktor had to work _very_ hard to keep himself composed, because Yuuri was _leaning his head into Viktor’s hand and—_

“This is nice,” Yuuri drawled, slow and mumbled, eyes still closed as he held the cup to his chest.

Viktor felt an almost painful surge of excitement in his chest, his fingers instinctively twitching as Yuuri rolled his head, rubbing further into Viktor’s hand…

“It is,” Viktor managed in a low voice, an irresistibly urge to flirt tugging at his chest as the alcohol loosened every fibre of his being, hoping against hope that his tone would reach through Yuuri’s drunken haze.

But Yuuri simply hummed, eyes still closed, lips still curved in that tantalisingly blissful smile.

Viktor could feel a mental war breaking out as he sat there, hand desperate to sift itself through Yuuri’s ridiculously soft hair. Body desperate to shift. To close the distance. Viktor knew the electric sensation that drew him closer _could_ be attributed to the liquor that now buzzed just under the surface of his skin, but he also knew it was _definitely_ something about the way Yuuri’s voice lilted, high and breathy, how his eyes, heavy-lidded, fluttered open as he turned to look at him…

“Not fair,” Yuuri said lazily, blinking at him slowly as he leant further into Viktor’s hand. Viktor had to chew on his lower lip to keep himself from whining.

“N—Not fair?” he managed, attempting to keep his voice low and even. If he was going to try and pursue whatever … _this_ was, Viktor knew he had to keep his cool. As much as every bone in his body all but _begged_ to sweep Yuuri off his feet then and there, he had to keep his personality in check.

_That boorish, extravagant personality…_

Viktor froze.

The words slashed across his mind, loud and far too familiar, suddenly colouring everything dark. A memory. Flashes of …

Well.

He hadn’t expected _that_. And _here_ , of all places…

But before the dark memories in his mind could manifest, Yuuri’s voice suddenly cut across his thoughts, bringing him back to some semblance of reality.

“I can’t touch your hair,” Yuuri said in a small voice, eyes still heavy-lidded, and it took Viktor a moment to realise he was responding to him.

He swallowed as his mind reeled into desperation, Yuuri’s strange words catching him off-guard and distracting him.

“My hair?” he managed, smiling instinctively as he offered Yuuri a controlled little laugh. “What do you mean?”

But Yuuri only frowned, turning his head and suddenly fixing Viktor with an intent stare. A far too _knowing_ stare. His eyes, darting across Viktor’s face searchingly, were altogether _too_ sober, Viktor’s throat tightening ever so slightly as a thin sliver of fear worked its way into his spine.

“You’re sad,” Yuuri stated. Simply. The liquor still clear in his words, though he spoke with all the clarity of sobriety. Viktor’s throat constricted all the more, his smile still plastered across his features as he attempted to maintain it.

“Yuuri, you’re drunk,” he said effortlessly, suddenly shifting to bring his hand away from Yuuri’s head. His emotions were far to conflicted now. And avoiding Yuuri’s touch seemed like the best way to avoid … well, everything else.

“I am,” Yuuri said with a sigh, shifting awkwardly to sit up and reaching for the sake bottle in one lazy movement. His glasses skewed themselves ever so slightly from the movement, and despite the anxiety that ate away at Viktor’s better judgement, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the sight.

Yuuri seemed to notice, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye and … _smirking_.

“Now you’re not sad,” he said, surprisingly softly. Gently. With warm eyes and a kind smile.

And Viktor’s mind was in chaos.

_Abort, abort, abort, abort!_

“How could I be?” Viktor managed, forcing himself to slide his hand back along the edge of Yuuri’s seat, dipping his head just so, lowering his voice to a sultry rumble. “When I’m with you.”

Viktor was close enough to see the colour of Yuuri’s cheeks noticeably shift, eyes blowing wide despite the thin glaze of alcohol that misted them. Viktor worked hard to maintain his expression, praying to every god known to man that his deflection would work. _Please work, please work…_

Yuuri blinked once, twice, the blush creeping to dust every inch of his face.

And then he _snorted_.

Viktor could feel the edges of his smile cracking, mouth twitching as he watched in complete shock as Yuuri doubled over and _laughed._ The same childish, carefree laugh he’d been slowly revealing as the night wore on. Viktor would almost have called it melodious, if his entire brain weren’t so suddenly turned to static.

“Oh my _god,”_ Yuuri gasped, still doubled over and clutching at his sides, swaying where he sat. Phichit and Chris had stopped their own flirting and were watching after him amusedly, Phichit giving Viktor an enthusiastic thumbs up.

But Viktor found he could only stare. Was this a _good_ reaction? As far as he could remember, he’d never received _laugher_ in response to an attempt at seduction.

He couldn’t quite tell if he were disappointed or not.

“That’s … ah … not fair,” Yuuri managed to gasp between bouts of giggles, falling back in his seat as he wiped the corner of his eye. Still grinning that same, heartfelt grin. Still wreaking havoc with Viktor’s mind. “You don’t get to do that.”

And as he lay there, resting on Viktor’s arm, out of breath and eyes shimmering, Viktor could feel _himself_ mirroring Yuuri’s blush.

“Do … what?” he asked slowly, confusion mixing with the racing of his mind in a heady way.

“ _Seduce_ me!” Yuuri cried, jabbing a finger in Viktor’s direction, haphazardly managing to poke him in the shoulder despite how he swayed, lip curling into the most devastating smirk Viktor had ever seen. “That’s a dirty trick.”

And Viktor could only swallow as he felt Yuuri’s touch. Because Yuuri was close now, leaning in and tipping his head to gaze up at him. All teasing eyes and heavy lids. Heavy breaths. Not to mention the far too adorable tilt of his glasses still perched precariously on the end of his nose. The all-too-obvious peek of his skin beneath the tangled collar of his shirt, which Viktor noticed had fallen open…

And it was suddenly all too much. _Too much._ Viktor couldn’t hold himself together any longer. Yuuri was all but in his _lap_ and _teasing_ him like he didn’t know what was good for him. Like Viktor’s carefully constructed defences and well-timed deflections meant _nothing…_

And…

_And…_

Feeling a strange tug in his chest, Viktor suddenly ducked in close to Yuuri’s ear, hovering his lips just above its shell, eyes turned to flint.

“Not as dirty as I _could_ be,” he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look fam. Beautiful fam. Loyal fam. I have nothing to say and no excuses for how damN LONG IT TOOK ME TO UPDATE BUT. WE DID IT. WE'RE HERE. WE'RE QUEER. WE'RE DROWNING IN VIKTUURI.
> 
> Please accept all of my apologies and love - first for how long it took, and second for another short chapter. Someone remember to put "It was meant to be longer" on my tombstone because I feel like that's forever my biggest life regret when it comes to writing fics.
> 
> AND JUST. FUCK. With the support. The comments. The everything. I'm so ecstatic that people are enjoying this stupid daytime drama of a series, and I hope I can keep y'all entertained right to the end. Because I'm bundling you all up and taking you with me on this joyride of b u l l s h i t whether you like it or not.
> 
> Much anti-depressant-fuelled-cat-hair-clogged love,
> 
> \- Min
> 
>  
> 
> Translations:
> 
> やった - (yatta) - yay!
> 
> 美味しい - (oishi) - delicious
> 
> 乾杯 - (kanpai) - cheers!


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